


Lacrimosa

by PinkHydrangea



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe- Knights, F/M, please help me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHydrangea/pseuds/PinkHydrangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being falsely deposed from her position, a knight hides away in the forest while awaiting justice. A dying noble stumbles across her path and proves he could potentially be her key to freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there isn't enough elfever angst in this world.. or knight aus... im going to fix that
> 
> On more serious note, this'll probably be a shorter fic, probably seven chapters at most? Also the title, Lacrimosa, means "weeping" in Latin, for those who are curious!

The day had simply been an exasperating whirlwind. There had been five meetings Evergreen had to attend with Laxus, three hours of training rookies out in the courtyard, library organization, weapon inventory, laundry, more meetings, guard duty, more overeager rookies, and murder.

Aw,  _hell_.

Blood seeped deep into the carpet and began to dry and crack on her skin. The white robes of a priest were quickly becoming a sinister red color and her fingers, hands, whatever she pressed against the wounds, were useless. The priest merely choked, looked towards the ceiling with terrified, glazing eyes, and grasped at her fingers as though she had the power to keep him tethered to the living.

So even priests were afraid of death.

What aggravated the situation even more was the limp and bleeding body of Ivan near the door. He wouldn't wake up- she'd already tried desperately, but all he'd done was spit out a mouthful of foam and let his eyes roll into the back of his head, let out a final yell, and then slipped into unconsciousness.

Her heart pounded; footsteps were stomping towards her, there were shouts of urgency, and she was covered in blood in a room with an unconscious royal, a dying priest, and a bloody ax that looked too much like her own.

Thunder crashed outside of the window as the door flew open, smacking Ivan straight in the head. A guard yelled as Evergreen shot past and crashed against the wall behind them, her chest heaving, before taking off down the hall before any of them really registered what was happening.

"The prince is here!" they had begun to yell. "And the head priest!"

They realized he was dead only moments later, but she was already down the stairs and rushing past scullery maids and butlers, covering her mouth with a black handkerchief and swallowing her anxiety. A few stopped, questioned the blood on her hands with a growing hysteria as news spread further and further that the head priest was dead and Prince Ivan was unresponsive.

One more hall. She just had to go down one more hall without running into some sort of guard, but it loomed forward and seemed to stretch more and more and more- did it have an end?

"Find her!"

Even though the rain beat harder on the stone ceiling with each passing minute and the thunder clapped deafeningly, the sounds of screaming, clanking metal, and shouts echoed through the palace.

"Where is she?"

"Traitor!"

"Murderer!"

"We had to know that this was going to happen with her eventually."

Something between fear and rage stirred in her stomach, but she had no time to linger on it. Knights and guards were coming through the main hall and she scrambled around the corner, shaking and wincing at a slight pain in her side. Ivan's punch wasn't the best, but it was solid, that was for sure.

"Find her! She must answer before the king."

A tall woman with flaming scarlet hair followed the brigade with a stern look set in her face like stone. Of course Erza would come looking for her; a high-ranking knight like Evergreen murdering a head priest? This was all part of Erza's job description.

Down the hall. She just had to go down this hall, and-  _ **!**_

A door next to her opened, a hand shot out and gripped the edges of her armor, and she suppressed a shriek as she was dragged into the dark room. Her handkerchief fell to the ground and the door slammed shut behind her. Only a small torch illuminated the room and the light danced on the wall and on the faces of those hurrying around it.

"Got yourself into a mess, didn't you, Majesty?" Bickslow grunted as he lifted a crate and set it in front of the door before going back to another one.

"It's not her fault that she was lured in," snapped back Freed. "Laxus, we're almost prepared."

Laxus leaned against the wall, flipping through a selection of papers. Relief washed into her stomach and she went to him, grabbing his arm and looking up at him desperately. "Ivan is- he-" It was hard to speak. "I didn't, and, y-y'know-"

She stopped as he glared down at her with an unreadable expression and studied her for a brief moment. He set down the papers and rested a hand on hers. "I know what Ivan is doing. We have to get you out of here."

The sounds of guards pounding through the palace seemed to be coming from all directions. Ever's throat began to close up in a panic- it wouldn't be good if they were found with her. They'd be framed as accomplices and thrown into a cell with her. They'd probably die together, and it would certainly be her fault.

Despite the howling storm outside, Bickslow slammed open the room's only window. Rain and hail poured in and the flashes of lightning became brighter and the claps of thunder louder. Laxus grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the window. Freed shoved a thin bag into her free arm, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and stepped back, unable to look at her directly. It was obvious that there were a few tears starting in his eyes.

"I hear something in this room!"

It was Erza- the four held their breath. The knight was quiet for a moment and they heard the clanging of heavy armor.

"This is her's. Laxus gave it to her."

That was right- Evergreen had dropped her handkerchief.

"She's in this area! Check this room!"

A banging began on the door, the thumping in time with her heart rate. Bickslow scowled at the door and clenched his fist around a sword on the table next to him.

"Don't hold it against her." Laxus climbed through the window and held out his arms to Evergreen. The storm raged intimidatingly behind him. "She's only doing her job."

Bickslow set down the sword and walked towards them as Laxus hoisted her up through the window. Rain immediately soaked her through her clothes and armor and chilled her to the bone, but he hugged her nonetheless. "We'll figure this out, Ever. Stay low 'til we do."

The crates by the door began to shake and Laxus pulled her along. Bickslow slammed the window shut and drew the curtains, cutting off her last views of him and Freed.

Hail pelted against her skin and slicked the grass. She would have completely fallen a long time ago, but sure-footed Laxus caught her around the waist each time she began to and kept yanking her along through the castle grounds. The rain came down so heavily that Evergreen couldn't see ten feet in front of her, but they knew the grounds well.

"Where are we going?" she shouted, but her voice was lost in the rain. "Laxus!"

"A safehouse in the West Forest," he shouted back; he had heard her after all. "Keep up with me! And for God's sake, be quiet!"

No matter how many guards came crashing through the bushes and circled the fountain and gardens, they weren't liable to find them through the sheet of rain that fell down around them. She couldn't even begin to tell when they had left castle grounds, but Laxus seemed to know where he was going. She squeezed his hand and held a hand above her head in a feeble attempt to stop the rain from hitting her. A chill had penetrated even her bones, but it was unlikely that she was going to be getting anywhere warm soon. The West Forest was a good three-hour walk in good weather, much less in something bordering a hurricane.

"People will be suspicious," she spit out after what felt like forever. "If you're gone, that is."

"'s fine," he shouted back to her. "I'll pull out the 'vengeful son' card. Everyone will believe me if I said I chased you in revenge."

Their hands hadn't separated in a very long time and they felt glued together. It was a comforting feeling. Her heart rate slowed.

"Why did he do this?" she asked.

"He's a psychopath," Laxus responded simply, as though this explained everything, and, in part, it did.

They lapsed back into silence. The rain fell harder and harder, even under the cover of thick, leafy trees. When Evergreen opened her mouth to even try to speak, it filled with water and she had to duck her head and spit it out. Laxus didn't seem to be having much better luck, as he was coughing and shaking his head, trying to expel the water in a dignified manner more befitting of a prince.

She listened through the crashes of thunder and lightning, but she heard no one pursuing them. They certainly wouldn't be sending out dogs for them; it was much too wet for their scents to linger for more than a few minutes. Horses, griffins, wyverns would be rendered useless in such a downpour that they were in.

Oh, how lucky they were that Ivan had framed her for murder on such a wretched and hideous day.

When she closed her eyes, she saw it again: Heading into the priest's room on a personal call, Ivan sitting by him with a somber look on his face, the confusion the priest displayed when he told her that, no, he had  _not_ called for anyone, and, finally the hand ax that had lodged right into the head priest's shoulder, Ivan's twisted, laughing face, and she heard the sickening crunch as he bit into some drug while they scuffled and slammed throughout the room.

He had framed her. He wanted to torture Laxus in some way, and so he had framed her, the poor little girl his son had picked up off the streets, who had once had a penchant for murder and violence. Who wouldn't believe him? Who wouldn't believe that she had killed an innocent priest with big brown eyes?

Ivan had thought out his plot damn well, and she hated to admit it.

They headed up a slope and had to finally pry their fingers apart to climb properly. Mud pooled around them, becoming softer and more slippery by the second. Her fingers slipped through the stuff and she fell once or twice, but made it to the top where Laxus proceeded to pull her along. She was grateful to have his hand in hers again, even if it was caked in mud and had small bits of rock on it.

"Almost there." Laxus' voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away, but she still held tight to his hand and struggled to breath through the water.

In the next flash of lightning, in which the ground shook and was far too close for her comfort, she made out the faint outline of a structure; it looked like a house, and she breathed heavily in relief. Water filled her mouth again.

Wind howled around the cabin and even Laxus struggled to open up the door against it. When it finally did open, he grabbed her arm, ungracefully threw her in, and slammed it behind them. The sounds of the storm still raged and howled, though they were significantly muffled by the dusty wooden walls. Water dripped from the ceiling and pooled in the corners of the interior.

Laxus huffed and slumped against the wall, shook out his head and splashed water everywhere, and nearly fainted in exhaustion. Ever had to admit that she felt quite the same. They had been walking for what was likely hours through a massive storm, her knees were made of jelly, her lungs were struggling to adjust to the concept of fresh, dry air again, and there were still chips of dry, innocent blood beneath her fingernails.

What a whirlwind of a day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you very much for your support! Please enjoy this chapter! The ElfEver finally gets going at the end~

All Elfman had wanted was an easy job. Something where his life wasn’t in constant danger and he wasn’t always escaping by just a hair. He had sisters to take care of, after all, and while danger was exhilarating and tempting, it wasn’t ideal. An easy job. Even just once a month. That was all.

Of course, he had no such luck.

“We might have a bandit camp set up in the West Forest,” Mirajane told him in a daily meeting. Her tongue poked out of her mouth just slightly and she squinted at a map she had the tip of her finger on. “The towns here are the ones being attacked, right, Lisanna?”

Their younger sister leaned forward and double-checked briefly. “That’s right.”

“Yes, that is right.”

“And?” Elfman asked, already dreading the loss of a peaceful day where he could train and beat on Gajeel and have Gajeel beat on him. Those were fun times.

But sometimes, beating on bad guys was even better.

“Based on the locations, we suspect the camp is in… This area?” Mira circled a general area near the middle of the forest with the tip of her finger. “Erza has asked us to dispose of it, since it’s closer to our side of the forest than her’s. Can you do it, Elfman?”

He slid his hands together and cracked his knuckles. “How many do we think?”

Lisanna pulled a sheet of paper from the top of a stack. “Witnesses can account for about ni-no, about eight thieves. Gajeel, Levy, and Lily are out taking care of something else in Hargeon, so we need you to do it.”

He blinked. “Aren’t you going with me?”

The sisters shook their heads in unison. “Meetings,” Mirajane said, and that was the end of the discussion. Meetings always trumped everything else.

“Eight or more brigands and me?” he asked.

“No problem for a manly man like yourself,” Lisanna coaxed, inching towards him. “Right?”

“Of course it isn’t!” he boasted. “I’ll take ‘em all out and be back before dinner. That’ll make Gajeel jealous.”

“Natsu, too, if he catches wind,” she chipped in. “Now, get going soon. The sooner we can deal with this problem, the better.”

Mirajane sighed and hung her head. “The kingdom’s already got so much on its plate right now, what with the head priest dead and Prince Ivan still comatose.”

“Hasn’t it been a couple months already?” Elfman asked. He gripped the handle of the ax at his side a bit tighter.

“The healers say his condition is improving steadily,” Lisanna informed. “He’s expected to wake up soon, but-”

“-no lead on the murderer,” Mira finished. “That she’s avoided punishment for so long is impressive.”

“What motive is there to kill the head priest?” Lisanna wondered as she gathered her papers.

“Sends a lot of processes into turmoil,” her sister explained. “The head priest does a lot of ceremonies and work in the main castle, so having him gone is a big loss.”

“Not even Natsu has found her?” Elfman questioned. His sisters began to make for the exit and he swung his ax into the holster on his back. “He’s the best tracker in the kingdom.”

“He was murdered on that day with the massive storm, remember? Her scent is all washed out and there’s no trace of footsteps or anything. Any damage she may have caused escaping can’t be told apart from storm wreckage.”

Elfman sighed and made for the exit. “A troublemaker like that… how unmanly.”

* * *

 He set out into the forest shortly after he'd ensured that his sisters were safe and sound in their meetings. It was a good day for tracking: The air was clean, crisp, and fresh, the ground was dry, and the world was quiet.

Eight brigands against him. Elfman liked his chances. He'd taken on more, after all, and vastly more skilled. This would be little more than a warm up, just a bit of a workout.

He dropped into a crouch and studied the forest floor. Pressed into the ground were a selection of footprints, all heading towards the east. If he counted carefully, there were four sets. Whoever these thieves were, they weren’t smart, and they weren’t at all good at hiding their footsteps. They would be easy. This _was_ a simple job after all.

Still, he walked quietly and carefully. There was no telling if they’d caught on to him and were lying in wait behind a log or hiding in the trees. He had to be on alert at all times, because he was a man, and a man did not so easily let his guard-

“It’s a knight! Get ‘im!”

His heart jumped and something blunt slammed into the side of his head with an impressive force, taking him to his knees. The world squirmed and the sounds of pounding footsteps and battle cries echoed in his head. Even though there was five of everything, Elfman took a wild guess guided by instinct and grabbed at a shape rushing towards him. The feeling under his hand was definitely flesh, given its give, and he threw the brigand at another hazy figure to his right which he hoped was another...

Nope. It was a tree.

His right temple was throbbing. He struggled to stay standing, but drew himself up to his full height in an attempt at intimidation. For a moment, it worked; the combination of their companion limp at the base of a tree and his massive size was enough to make them pause. Some even stepped back and gave each other nervous looks. Very slowly, the five of everything became four of everything, and then even three. Elfman prayed for a little more time.

“Don’t stand there! It’s only one of him and ten of us. We can do it!”

Ten?  That was certainly more than eight. Wasn’t it? His head was still spinning. It would be best to not go for his ax- if he was still this dizzy, the chances of hurting himself was much too high.

Some of them had lances, others had swords, and some just their bare fists. The one near the tree was still unresponsive, despite the woman next to him desperately trying to shake him awake.

One, two, three. He took down three quickly by smashing them all together. The blade of a lance nearly skewered his head, but he leaned and only received a thin slice on his jaw. The wielder stumbled forward, swore, and squeaked when his weapon broke with naught but a smack from his enemy. Elfman's hand stung and his jaw tingled unpleasantly, but he ignored it and dodged a swing from a sword. The blade clumsily went down and grazed along the armor on his forearm, but went even lower and caught on the flesh of his wrist.

That really hurt.

“Somebody grab the loot and run!” shouted an older woman. “I saw a place over the hills you can keep it.”

“Isn't it real dumb to say that when I’m standing _right here_?” Elfman asked.

“Not if we kill ya!” A smaller boy dropped down from the treetops with a sword in hand.

Elfman nearly yelped, but decided it was not very manly. He jumped back away from the boy and decided his ax was then a good option. A hot pain slid over his side and he swung an arm back while hissing in agony. A brigand had been waiting and was grinning in triumph, a lance decorated with a bloody blade gripped tightly in his hand.

“Hey, go for it!”

Something- an arrow -thunked against his hard leather armor and bounced harmlessly off. Four more came in a quick succession, doing just the same, and then one found a place between his armor plates and another lodged into the edge of his neck. The pain was blinding and he could not even find the means to yell.

A sword fell against his shoulder. An ax sliced open his thigh. A blast of white hot magic, of all the damn things, scorched his armor and rendered it useless. More arrows buried into his calves, someone stole his ax, and when he held out a hand to deliriously block what looked like a punch, a knife went clean through his palm.

Sweat dripped off his nose. The blunt handle of a lance, again, smashed into his temple. Their laughing was dim, faint against his the pounding in his head and audible beating of his heart. Another arrow slammed into his shoulder and he roared, lunging for the brigand nearest to him. They pranced back and swung a handful of knives down against his back. The blade of one scraped against his spine. He cried out and collapsed, his arms shaking.

The dirt had red. A very violent red. Red blood, and it didn't belong to the bandits.

“Finish him off already.”

“Nah, he’s not goin’ anywhere. I say we leave him to bleed out. Slow and painful, real befitting of a knight.”

“Let’s go catch up with the others and the loot.”

Someone kicked up a cloud of dirt in his face as they ran down the hill, howling like a hyena. Elfman gritted his teeth, suppressing a cough, and clenched his fists into the ground. He heaved and a thick wad of blood hit the back of his teeth. His thigh gushed blood and he rolled over, desperately grabbing at the gaping wound. His other hand twitched uselessly.

He was going to die, damn it all. Mira would be so disappointed in him. Lisanna would cry for days. And what would everyone else say?

The morbid thoughts motivated him. He struggled to get up again, urging his bruised and bleeding body upward. A sharp pain stabbed his chest and he yelped, flopping back down.

So this was it. Bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.

Birds sang in the trees without pause, squirrels scurried around, and the sky kept shining. The world was oblivious to his death.

His head fogged, but Elfman squinted and shook his head. He had to stay awake. He would never wake up if he went to sleep. He had to… stay…

…

. . .

.  .  .

Something cold pressed against the side of his face. It traced down his jaw and neck and came to rest on his chest before moving back up to where it had started. A pleasant feeling. It was so cool and fresh.

His eyelids were so heavy, but he cracked them open and caught a glimpse of what was surely, definitely an angel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was frighteningly fast, and she further proved this by lunging forward in the course of another blink. Her hand rested on his chest, one of her knees dug into his injured abdomen to the point where he yelled, and she held the sharp blade of a cooking knife up to the thin skin of his throat.  
> Elfman's hand dropped from his weapon and he stared in horror. He swallowed and the edge of the blade nicked his skin. Her hand was as cold as her eyes.  
> “Now,” she began after an eternity, “what are you planning to do to a cute, helpless girl like me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school started again so my writing has slowed down and im mad >:[. fortunately i still have a lot of motivation for this fic, so i write it whenever i get the chance! also, just so everyone knows, you can easily access me and reblog my work at my tumblr, raiijinshuu (yes, that is raijinshuu with an extra 'i'!)- i also make graphics, and sometimes i post WIPs there, so feel free to visit! i also have three other ongoing stories you can check out, little talks, what the flowers whispered, and lionhearted, and i'm in the process of developing a new elfever au!! i love elfever aus. damn

A light sound was the first thing to finally reach through the darkness. Something light, airy, and pleasant. It was humming, Elfman settled on, after it became clearer. Someone was humming, and-

And his leg burned like hell. 

Sunlight burned his eyes as he tried to open them. He screwed them shut again and shifted uncomfortably. His side screamed in pain and he struggled to remember what had happened.

Brigands. Arrows. An angel.

Despite the sunlight, he opened his eyes. A wooden roof swirled into shape above him. Next to him was a stand and atop it a basin filled with water. A cloth drifted through it, blotched with pink. The walls were suspiciously bare, though the windows were decorated with curtains that seemed to be lovingly embroidered. He ran his hand against the blanket covering him- green, cotton, and very soft. His feet hung over the edge of the bed, but a chest had been pushed up and padded with quilts to support them. Bandages wound around his body, covered with spots of blood. A damp cloth slid off his forehead when he tried to sit up. His neck stung when he did this, so he slumped back down and tried to fight off drowsiness.

This wasn't the manor. There were no healers, no attendants. Not one of his sisters was hovering and twittering over him like they always did when he was hurt, which was rather frequently. The place smelled too old and was too… wooden.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was hard and simple, nothing shocking, but Elfman jumped nonetheless. His neck screeched in agony when he craned it to see a young woman at the foot of the bed. A simple red dress hung off her shoulders. A white apron was wrapped around her waist and a stained cloth peeked out of the pockets. Brown hair messed around her head like an angry bird’s nest, all curves and turns and twists, and it immediately identified her to him.

This was the angel in the forest.

“Where am I?” he demanded.

She frowned and pressed her lips in a vague expression. “West Forest. I found you bleeding all over the poor plants and picked you up.”

Picked him up. A tiny-looking woman living in the middle of the forest, just picking up someone Elfman’s size? She couldn’t have. There had to be someone bigger living with her who had picked him up, but there was only one single-person bed, one small wardrobe, and there certainly wasn’t any indication of another person ever having been there.

Odd.

“You’ve been asleep for a good three days. Those bandits did a number on you.”

He sat up quickly, though his body protested. “Three days?!”

Mira and Lisanna probably thought he was dead. Didn’t she say he had bled everywhere? They would send out a patrol, maybe even go themselves, and they’d find blood all over the place. If they were really looking for him, they’d have found him by now, but they hadn’t, and surely they thought he was dead. What would they say when he went home?

_ If  _ he went home.

The woman had elected to ignore him and instead had gone back to a small area that looked like a kitchen. Elfman took this chance to observe her curiously. Why  _ had  _ she picked him up? What was she planning to do to him? If she wanted him dead, wouldn’t she have just killed him where he was and not bothered to patch him up? Perhaps she was a member of that group of brigands; they had mentioned a place over the hills to hide out in. Maybe she was planning on ransoming him to his sisters.

Elfman moved his hand towards the nightstand. It was certainly the furthest thing from an ax, but if she made any wrong move towards him, the basin would make a good weapon. He could hit her over the head with it and do some pretty good damage and then make his escape. He just had to watch her every move.

She proceeded as normal. She was cooking a few things at once and had all her attention on the pots and pans. He wanted to lie back down, desperately so, but kept watching. A woman in the middle of the West Forest by herself, hospitable as the place was, was bizarre. She shifted her head around to look at him warily; she knew he was watching her like a hawk. Her eyes lingered on his hand and the basin and he didn't bother to hide his aggression.

Only a second later, his skewered hand burned and he blinked, focusing away the pain. He opened his eyes what was a long second later, but she had vanished from the kitchen. Instead, she crouched on the bed with him and watched his face with such an intense, yet bland, gaze.

She was frighteningly fast, and she further proved this by lunging forward in the course of another blink. Her hand rested on his chest, one of her knees dug into his injured abdomen to the point where he yelled, and she held the sharp blade of a cooking knife up to the thin skin of his throat.

Elfman's hand dropped from his weapon and he stared in horror. He swallowed and the edge of the blade nicked his skin. Her hand was as cold as her eyes.

“Now,” she began after an eternity, “what are you planning to do to a cute, helpless girl like me?”

This definitely was not a normal girl: She was fast, strong, and most certainly lethal based on the way she held the knife. Her grip was not clumsy on the blade as it was with most of the brigands he saw. The grip was almost familiar to him, like he had seen the technique before, though he had no sane idea as to how a recluse would be able to mimic what he now recognized as a palace technique.

Her words finally caught him after a long pause of him attempting to lean back and away from her knife.  _ Cute _ .  _ Helpless _ .

“Helpless?” he spat. The knife pressed against his throat. “What part of this is helpless, you damn brigand?”

Her eyebrows raised and her lips twitched. Another silence followed and Elfman feared that she would cut his throat for his hostility, but instead she lowered it and leaned back on her haunches. Her face was blank as she looked at him, but turned to something like curiosity as her eyes flicked to and fro, studying him.

“I’m no brigand,” she stated.

He heaved a sigh of relief, almost like a gasp, and grabbed at his throat with his uninjured hand, rubbing away the small beads of blood there. “Not a brigand? Then who are you?”

Rather than answering, she reached for his other hand. He jerked back, eager to avoid her, but she caught it anyway and held it in both of hers, close to her face, scrutinizing it. So close, in fact, that he could feel her breath on the tips of his fingers. It was hot, but not in an unpleasant sort of way.

“He’s reopened the wound,” she whispered to herself.

He noticed only as she examined it. The bandages over his hand were quickly blossoming with red and were heavy. The pain came back all at once, as though increased by his awareness, and he snatched his hand away from her, holding it tightly and cursing.

“Damn bandits,” he hissed. “There were better trained than I expected. I let my guard down. How unmanly.”

The girl got off the bed and, fortunately, took her knife with her. There was a table on the way to the kitchen-area, topped with a large white bowl. While passing it, she snagged a handful of green things from the bowl and tossed them into a tall, boiling pot. Elfman proceeded to watch her warily, trying to take his mind off the searing pain in his hand and thigh and everywhere else. His body really hurt. Everywhere. He wanted to go back home and sleep.

“If you aren’t a bandit, then-”

“I’m an herbalist,” she cut in. “Why do you think those wounds of yours are healing so well?”

An herbalist? That would explain why she was in the middle of the forest, which was known far-and-wide as the best source of plants in the kingdom. It wouldn’t explain why she handled the knife with such accuracy, but, quite honestly, Elfman was willing to let that one go. If she really was telling the truth, he had a lot of thanks to give her.

“I haven’t slept in three days,” she mumbled to herself. “Be grateful, you annoying noble.”

For what was the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, Elfman jerked forward and stared at her, his chest pounding. “What did you say? You know me?”

She turned to him and blinked, but went back to her stove. She spooned out a long strand of some gunky green stuff and smoothed it atop a fresh bandage. “I know  _ of  _ you. You’re the younger brother of High Knight Mirajane, aren’t you?” She stuck a finger to her chin and gazed at the ceiling. “Well, I guess ‘noble,’ isn’t quite the right word. Maybe ‘privileged boy?’”

“I’m not ‘privileged,’” he argued while she came back and wrapped the bandage around his hand. The paste inside was cold and tingled to the point where it numbed his pain. The old bandage had been discarded and he found the same green paste in that one, though stale and crusty.

“Everyone knows that family and subordinates of those who achieve high knighthood are essentially treated as nobles,” she quipped. “Hold still. I have to make sure this is on right for the marigold to work.”

Elfman glared. “That doesn’t explain how you ‘know of’ me.”

“I haven’t always lived in the middle of the woods. I used to live in the city. It’s impossible not to know the faces of most knights, unless they decide to lay low.” She finished with the bandage and stood again, swiping the basin off the bedside. “And besides, not everyone has that white hair. It’s very distinct.”

“Why did you save me?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” She looked back at him and sighed before stirring something in another pot. “You matter to someone, don’t you? I’d hate for them to be sad.”

Something in Elfman softened, but just slightly. “I’m going to ask one last question.”

“Fine.”

“What’s your name?”

She stayed quiet for a second, stirring her food, and then answered.

“Ever.”

* * *

 

Her hands pressed against his muscles, firm and sure. Elfman stayed still and let her do as she pleased, her warm breath pleasant against his neck. His bandages had gone away one by one over the past few days, and Ever was doing what she referred to as a “final checkup.”

She groped a muscle near his hip and he jumped. “You’re being really thorough!”

“Just observing,” she hummed, not much listening to him.

Her hair curled so much around her face that he could barely make it out, but he decided to see if he could get a rise out of her anyway. “You sure you aren’t just using ‘medical checkup’ as an excuse to rub me down all you want?”

Her cheeks turned the color of tomatoes and she pinched a sensitive muscle on his shoulder extra hard until he yelped. “Keep teasing me like that and I’ll reopen all your wounds, idiot.”

Ever had proved to be a rather warm host, when she wasn’t insulting the way he smelled like death, his idiocy at getting his wounds in the first place, or bemoaning the fact that she had to sleep on a pile of blankets because he was taking up her bed. They fought consistently, though Elfman never felt that she was truly mad at him. Rather, he got the impression that she was merely a prickly, grumpy person, despite the fact that it was very annoying.

But, he felt drawn to her. She hadn’t had any visitors since he had woken up. Every day, she went out and came back with a bag full of herbs and a few trapped animals, and then she would read in the corner of the house. She talked to him whenever he engaged her. She checked his wounds every few hours and seemed to never cease worrying over them.

Elfman liked Ever. A lot. She had successfully intrigued him more than anyone else ever had, despite how they argued.

“Does your thigh still hurt?” she asked. “I can send you off with a blend for it.”

“It's stiff,” he responded after moving it around.

“That's not a surprise. The muscles are just finishing their mending, so they aren't as limber as they might have been.” After touching and observing for another few minutes, she let him go and stood from the bed. “You’re in an acceptable condition. Leave, so I can finally have my house back.”

She tossed a shirt in his face and dumped his armor on his lap, stopping him from sending a sharp response back to her. Every tear in his shirt had been mended, and his armor had been patched up as much as it possibly could without the hand of a professional. The hard leather pieces felt warm and familiar, and he was glad to have them back.

“I found this when I went out before you woke up.”

Elfman turned to see- out of a closet she was pulling a broad, double-edged ax with a worn wooden handle, a rough leather casing, and she handled it with surprising strength for someone her size.

“My ax!” he exclaimed, forgetting the last buttons on his shirt and taking it from her. “Where’d you find it? One of the bandits who beat me up snatched it.”

She put her hands on her hips, turned away from him, and shrugged. “Told you. Found it while I was out. Who else would it belong to but you?”

Elfman was very aware that, yes, he would likely receive one of her firm smacks on the top of his head for what he was about to do, but he grabbed her hand anyway. “Thank you! This was a present from my older sister when I officially became a knight. It means a great deal to me.”

The herbalist looked down at his hand and, very warily, looked back up to his face with a confused expression. “You’re welcome.”

Her hand was warm.

“Please release my hand and leave my house.”

He let go, his ears burning, and she threw a travelling pack against his chest. He caught it as it fell and turned away from her, thoroughly embarrassed. “Y-yes. Thank you for helping me. It was real manly of you.”

“You’re making me really hate that damned word,” she warned. 

She put her hands on his back and began to push him towards the door. He felt dumbstruck for a second, but began to move his feet and finally stepped outside. 

“Th-thank you again!”

“Stop telling me thank you,” she grumbled. “The estate isn’t that far away, but I put some dried meat and a few energy herbs in there, just in case. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables when you get back- it helps the injuries heal faster.”

“Are you going to be fine out here?” he asked, leaning in to her.

A flush of red grew on her cheeks and he realized he was leaning too far- her personal space was being violated. “I’ll be fine. Wasn’t like you  _ helped  _ me around here or anything. I’ll just carry on as normal.” She grabbed the door handle and began to close it, but paused and gave him one last look, one including a sly grin. “Except I’ll finally have my bed back.”

The door shut. Elfman dropped his ax and the bag and then quickly picked them back up again and turned back towards the far west.

He had not seen her smile before. It wasn’t anything special, nothing radiant like Mira’s, a smile that could easily bring anyone to their knees before her, but it was nice. Pleasant. Kinda refreshing. He wouldn’t mind seeing more of it, but Ever seemed like the girl who smiled once in a blue moon.

The forest was just as serene as when he had gone into it before. The birds were still singing their ceaseless song, rabbits were peering from underneath the forest brush, and the sun filtered through the trees and dappled the ground.

Mira and Lisanna probably thought he was dead. After the hugs and tears, an ass-kicking was probably waiting for him, and then a furious round of questions. Should he tell them about Ever? Or did he lie and say he’d nursed himself back to health following the fatal injuries? He wasn’t that bad at taking care of wounds- in fact, he was pretty good at it. Something in his gut told him that Ever should remain a secret. He had found an abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods. He’d been unable to travel back after being injured, so he’d hidden away there and tended to his bruises and gashes. Yes, that was a good story, and believable as well.

It wasn’t long after he started walking that, through the scent of pine needles and foliage, something rank and sour hit his nose. It grew stronger as he walked. Elfman coughed and covered his mouth, his eyes watering at the sudden assault. Gods, what could smell  _ that  _ bad, and where was the smell coming from? Even a scavenger raccoon raced past him, also offended by the scent. If it was enough to make vermin run, he knew he was not exaggerating the awful, disgusting scent.

He kept walking towards the estate and through the trees, but the scent grew stronger still, until it became unbearable and he felt the urge to vomit. He had to be close to the source, and curiosity was getting the better of him, as it unfortunately usually did. He wandered around, kicking over leaves and logs, until a horrific sight greeted him.

Brigands. His brigands. With bloated bodies and tongues swollen out of their mouths. Their flesh was a dull red, filled with gaping holes from where birds and wolves had undoubtedly picked at them. The trees and ground around them were stained red with blood. Elfman could pick out countless wounds on them, even through their rotting bodies.

They had all been murdered, cut clean through by an undoubted expert. A lance stuck straight through one, pinning her to a tree, but her body had grown soft. Her rotting flesh was beginning to slip off the handle. Another had his own ax buried into his abdomen. A sword had cut clean through another one’s head, where it rested near its body.

The urge to vomit was stronger now. Even in all his years as a knight, Elfman had never seen such carnage in their peaceful kingdom, and he had certainly never seen such a large group of decaying bodies in one place. The stench was so foul. No doubt it was permeating through his clothes. He’d have to toss them or wash them extensively after getting so close.

Who had killed them, he wondered as he stepped back in terror. A rival group of brigands? Had they had a squabble among themselves? Their bodies were old enough that it would have had to have happened around the time that he was assaulted. Packs of gold still hung around their waists, so he scratched rivals off the list. They would have pillaged the corpses.

This was done by an expert. Someone who didn’t care about the gold and jewels, and someone who clearly thought that the group was threatening their safety and peace.

The thought of Ever holding her knife so expertly bubbled in his mind.

Elfman swallowed and glared back towards where he had come from.

No, it couldn’t be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever hummed and traced her hand over the wood of the fence, looking at him with, as usual, an unreadable expression. But Elfman had learned a few things about her expressions in the while they’d been together, and he judged that based on the curve of her lips and the scrunch of her nose, she wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t all too happy. Was there even some worry of her own lurking in that expression?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally... got a new chapter out... i haven't had a lot of time to write lately, with applying for scholarships and anxiously awaiting universities to let me know if i was accepted or not- i was accepted into a university i want to attend and am on a full scholarship for my first year, however! i love happy endings

Laxus’ fingers brushed against her back, delicate and light. “How’s it feel?”

“Doesn’t hurt so bad,” Ever responded.

Light filtered in through the curtains, dotting the floor with delicate patterns. A pan of searing rabbit simmered in the kitchen area and the scent of cooking herbs wafted throughout the room. A knitting project sat unfinished in the corner, abandoned by its owner upon the arrival of her guest.

“I’m going to press harder,” he warned her, and he dug the tips of his fingers against her shoulder blade.

The wound there burned and stung and she hissed, rolling her shoulder away from him. It was stiff and unforgiving, and she wished she was back at the castle where all manner of clerics could heal her with magic. Herbs and flowers worked well to prevent infection and close wounds, but they did little to ease pain and shock, especially when she had to apply them herself on an unreachable part of her body.

“It’s not opening,” he asserted and sat back on the bed. “How’d you get this again?”

A chill had settled over her bare back, but she chased it away with a shawl. She listened to the popping of oil on the stove and stayed silent. She couldn’t tell Laxus about Elfman. He would be concerned. Worried that the oaf would blab and the kingdom would find her. She couldn’t cause him any unnecessary worry, and, besides, she wanted to keep Elfman out of the entire situation.

He was cute, after all.

“A band of thieves,” she said slowly. She’d tell the truth- just not the entirety of it. “I found them lurking around the forest while I was gathering. They tried to mug me, but-”

“Dead?”

“I may have gotten carried away.”

He sighed and stood up, pacing around the small house. His fineries, the symbols of a High Knight and prince, had all been abandoned back at the castle. He’d snuck out to see her in plain clothing- slacks, muddy boots, and a collared shirt with a brown hunting coat tossed over his shoulders. Anyone could have mistaken him for the average townsman and worker. The only nice things on him were a pair of leather hunting gloves, which he discarded and left on the table.

The pan began to hiss threateningly. Ever stood and brushed past the prince, grabbing a wooden spoon and tossing the meat inside the pan briskly. It smelled tempting and her mouth watered at the prospect of eating it.

“Ivan still isn’t awake.”

She froze mid-stir and focused on a particular strand of herb in the pan- long, thin, wilting.

“He used some pretty deep-reaching sleep magic on himself. But the clerics are working relentlessly on him, so he should be awake soon.”

The meat had a dark brown crust on every side. She slid it onto two plates, scraping the herbs off the bottom. Laxus whisked it away the second she set a fork down next to his serving and began to devour it with the appetite of a beast.

Evergreen looked at him from the corner of her eye and gripped a bowl of greens tight in her hands. “What’s going to happen when he wakes up?”

He chewed slower, pulling an empty herb stalk off his plate and tossing it. “He’ll testify against you. That you murdered the priest will become fact, not just common speculation.”

She slammed the bowl down on the counter. A glass jumped and rolled off the counter, shattering against the ground next to Laxus’ feet. “But I didn’t! I gave up that life to be with you! I don’t kill good people anymore!”

He stopped eating and they remained silent for a long while. Evergreen counted the bits of glass shards on the ground while she thought of what to say, a course of action, anything that could help her. But nothing would. She knew that, very deep down. She was a street rat, a scamp that Laxus had picked up off the side of the road, and one with a very dotted past. Her word and honor over that of a crown prince was a laughable concept.

“Freed misses you.” Laxus reached over and fingered the fine cloth of one of the curtains between his forefinger and his thumb. “Bickslow misses having someone to mess with that gives the kind of reaction that you do.”

Ever crouched down and began to pick up the glass shards. They were cold and rough- the glass hadn't been crafted by a master and its surface was coarse. “What about-”

“Your damn griffon is fine,” he interrupted. “Don’t know why you care about the nasty thing.”

“Don’t call her nasty!” she defended. “She’s soft and cute, and she’s saved my life countless times.”

He continued to tug at the curtains. “If only she was there to eat Ivan, I’d be happy with the damn beast.”

Her fingers kept picking at the tiniest shards of glass on the floor. Her meal was probably getting cold, but her stomach was churning and the scent wasn’t so appealing anymore. Laxus set down his plate and wandered the room, and he meandered over to the corner, where the trash and dirty laundry sat. She didn’t think anything of it, until-

“Evergreen, what’s with all these bandages?”

Her heart jumped and she grabbed a piece of glass too hard. Her soft flesh burned and bled, but she stood up and rushed over. A long strand of bandages, the ones she had taken off Elfman just two days ago, hung from his hand as he observed them. She snatched at them, but he held them out of reach and scrutinized them closer.

“These aren’t yours,” he confirmed. “They’re for an arm wound.”

“I- I hurt my arm the other day,” she bluffed.

He looked at her skeptically. “Really.”

“Yes!” she insisted.

“So much that you needed this many? And I didn’t see any wounds on your arm when I was checking you.”

“They healed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Last time I was here was just over a week ago. You tellin’ me that you scratched up your arm bad enough to need this many bandages, tended to it, and healed it perfectly in just that amount of time?”

Her cheeks burned. It was a terrible lie. A really awful one, and he was going to figure it out soon enough. That she had brought someone into her sanctuary, the place she was supposed to be isolated. She had betrayed his trust to the extreme and he was going to be so disappointed in her.

He let them slip from his fingers back onto the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for a verbal beating  _ (“How could you do that? Why? We’re trying to keep you safe!”) _ , and he uttered a soft “Huh” from the corner of his mouth, and she listened as he walked past her back towards the kitchen. She kept her eyes screwed up for just another second while her heart pounded against her ribs before blinking them open, shocked that she had not been scolded in the end.

“Brought you something to keep you busy,” he said and she turned towards him, bewildered still. Out of the bag he’d brought with him came a long strip of elegant and wispy gray fabric and a set of embroidery floss. “That window in the back still needs a curtain, so I brought you more fabric.”

Hesitantly, like a dog approaching a stranger with food, she walked towards him. She reached out her fingers and touched the fabric- it was soft. Very high quality. Laxus had scarcely ever spoiled her with such lavish presents before, save for a trinket or two on her birthdays, but Ever supposed that that was what happened when you were framed for murder by his insane father.

Maybe being persecuted had its benefits.

* * *

 

Mirajane twittered over him, her face scrunched in concern while she brushed at his shoulder and picked at every little speck of dirt that so much landed on his clothes. “Elfman, is your hand okay? Is it still bothering you? You seem very out of it.”

Lisanna stopped reading a paper and looked at them. The cat in her lap stretched and pressed its claws out against her lap, but she didn’t seem to care that much. “He’s probably fine, big sister.”

Her fingers continued to travel over his hand, searching for any sign of blood or further injury, and Elfman fought against annoyance. She had burst into horrible tears when he’d walked back into the estate, Lisanna had cried and clung to him, and he felt so bad that he was willing to let them pester and hover over him for as long as they wanted. For Lisanna, it had been just a couple of days until she felt reassured, but it had now been a week and Mirajane was still concerned whenever a speck of dust landed on him.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Don’t you have something better to do, sis?”

She looked offended and put her hands to her mouth in an exaggerated gesture meant to guilt him, her wide sleeves frolicking through the air as she did so. “Better than take care of my little brother? Of course not!”

Lisanna’s cat fled when she turned over in the hammock, taking refuge on Elfman’s lap and glaring back at her. It ached a little when it pawed around and curled up on his healing thigh, but he wasn’t about to indicate any sort of discomfort. He’d be confined to the infirmary with Porlyusica for another day and she would yell and prod at him like she’d been doing since he was a kid.

Mirajane did eventually leave him alone and leaned against an arch, playing with a flower growing there before leaving to go inside, and Lisanna sighed as she continued reading the paper, which was probably official and not fun at all. The shade of the manor leaned over them, keeping them from the hot sun, and Elfman did his best not to move from his sitting spot for the sake of the cat that had taken refuge on his leg. He leaned forward and focused on getting a particular scrape polished out of his ax.

“She’s right, though,” Lisanna spoke suddenly.

“Right about what?” Elfman asked.

“You  _ do  _ seem out of it.”

“I’m perfectly in it. I’m as manly as can be.”

She swung her legs through the air as she observed him, a fingertip on her lips as she thought. “Are you? I don’t think so.”

“You’re thinking wrong.”

“Nope. I’m right. You’ve been focused on something else.”

Elfman swiped the polishing stone over the surface of the ax. The cat seemed bothered by the sound, but it only swiveled its ears back and readjusted itself.

“Are you thinking about someone?”

He dug too hard into the metal and a horrible scraping sound echoed through the courtyard. Thoroughly alarmed, the cat hissed, puffed out, and fled into the manor where Mirajane had vanished to.

“What happened to you in the forest?” Lisanna wondered. “Maybe a forest spirit was the one who found you and healed you! Maybe you can’t stop thinking about how cute that forest spirit was.”

The image of messy brown hair crossed his mind, but he waved it away and glowered at his younger sister. “No.”

She puffed out her cheeks and put her cheeks in her palms, staring out into the trees as she thought. “Maybe it is our imagination, then. Maybe you really are fine.”

“Fine as can be,” he confirmed.

No, Elfman was not distracted at all.

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?”

Ever leaned over the fence of her house. A batch of laundry flowed in the wind behind her and slabs of meat were drying on a rock next to it. Elfman glared at her, feeling rather cheap with coming back, but she looked nice enough with her hair fluttering in the wind and her confused face that he justified to himself that coming back was fine.

“I-” He reached for an excuse to tell her. He could justify it to himself, sure, but to her was another thing. “I was worried.”

She reached up a hand to tug a curl out of her face. “Worried?”

“About you,” he grumbled.

Ever hummed and traced her hand over the wood of the fence, looking at him with, as usual, an unreadable expression. But Elfman had learned a few things about her expressions in the while they’d been together, and he judged that based on the curve of her lips and the scrunch of her nose, she wasn’t angry, but she wasn’t all too happy. Was there even some worry of her own lurking in that expression?

“Are you doing fine?” he asked, desperate to fill in the silence between them.

She stood from her spot against the fence and headed over to the laundry, yanking a dress down from its spot in the wind to fold. “I’m the same as I was a week ago.”

She looked lovely. Very lovely, in her gray dress and white sweater with her hair free in the wind, and he felt that he could sit there, right outside her fenced yard, for a very long time and simply watch her. But that was creepy. Creepy was unmanly. The strap of the bag he had slid down his shoulder and he became aware of his load.

“A-are you hungry?” he blurted out.

After stripping the laundry line free of its last load, she turned to him again. “Hungry?”

“I-I know there isn’t a variety of things to eat out here, so I cooked something and brought it,” he rushed. “My sister taught me how to cook. I think I’m pretty good at it. I promise I’m not trying to poison you, so-!’

The squeak of the opening fence stopped him in his tracks. She didn’t look at him, but she she held the gate open. His heart lunged upwards and he had to stop a massive grin as he was allowed to walk through.

The small house smelled familiar and comforting, like warm wood. Everything was just as it had been when he left, except there was a new sewing project on the table. Gray fabric scrunched on the table and a roll of embroidery floss teetered dangerously on the edge, threatening to fall. Another smell caught his attention a second later and he sniffed and looked towards the kitchen where Ever was leaning down and staring at the oven.

“I have a cake almost done in here,” she said. “If you want to eat it, that is.”

“Yes!” he said, much too loudly, and she jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“Keep your voice down, you oaf!” she hissed, clutching the counter with a death-grip. “You almost scared me.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and so he focused on clearing the table of its contents. He was gentle with the fabric, which was soft and smooth and had a name that was just on the tip of his tongue, and set it down on her bed. Ever was pulling the cake out of the oven when he turned around, waving a towel above it in a feeble attempt to get it to cool down faster- something that Levy did frequently when she was cooking.

The pot in his bag clanged together when he picked it up- had the contents spilled at all when he’d been travelling? He’d stumbled over a log once or twice (or three times), and he’d had a run-in with a curious raccoon, so he had to wonder. The sauce would be hard to clean out of his bag if it had spilled, that was for sure. When he checked inside, though, he found the ceramic pot safe, sound, and undisturbed, and he felt smug when he pulled it out and went to put it on the table.

A pair of leather gloves sat right where the silver fabric had been, tossed carelessly. They were worn, a dark brown, and much too big and square for Ever’s hands, which as he knew from very personal experience, were long and slender and too soft for material so hard. Elfman set aside the pot, absentmindedly, and picked up the gloves. Maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but courtesy had slipped his mind.

Yes, they definitely belonged to a man, one maybe almost as big as Elfman. They were just a bit too small for him, and his stomach churned with… with what? Confusion? Sadness? Jealously? Another man had been in here, one who was comfortable enough taking off his clothes to relax, and it rubbed Elfman the wrong way, very much so.

“I’ll take those, thank you.” Ever plucked them from his hands, holding them almost reverently in her own. The comparison of the sizes was almost funny- her skin was barely visible under the lump of cloth which she stroked gently, pulling out any crease, and he couldn’t help but wonder just how small her hands would be against his own.

“Thank you for finding these,” she said softly. “I’m sure he’ll come back looking for them soon.”

Elfman gripped a chair and leaned against it, swallowing. “Who is ‘he?’”

The herbalist looked at him suspiciously, slipping the gloves into her apron’s pocket. “A friend. He visits me often.”

He cleared his throat, coughing against his fist, and looked up to the ceiling. “Boyfriend?”

“Friend.” She turned to the table and grabbed his pot. “I owe him everything.”

No no, that didn’t sound romantic to Elfman at all. Except it did. And his blood was boiling, just a little bit. Only a little bit.

“Whaaaaaaat do you two do when he’s here?” he drawled. He was trying too hard to be casual. He didn’t do subtle, he really didn’t, but he had to do his best.

“My personal life is none of your concern,” she quipped. “Now, do you want to eat, or not? I can’t sit around with you all day, answering your unimportant questions. I have more laundry to do.”

He sat down quickly, barely wincing at the creak of the chair underneath his weight. His stomach was still flipping around.

* * *

 

“Boss, why’re we heading down here?”

Their sound of their footsteps in the somber hall hung heavy in the air. It was so quiet, even with the scurry of forlorn nurses and doctors, that Laxus could even hear the swish of his cape with every step he took. Bickslow lagged behind him, looking suspiciously left and right at everything he saw, and Freed held his hands clenched behind his back like a perfect soldier, but his sword strapped at his side belied his calm. They were anxious. All of them were. When Ivan woke up, was one of them next? Or was Evergreen his only victim?

“I’m paying Father a visit,” Laxus responded lightly. A nurse looked at him pityingly as she passed and he almost vomited. Playing the Worried Son card was starting to do some serious damage on his intestines.

The doctor let them in without any hesitation, the clerics abandoned their positions next to Ivan, and even the guard left them when Laxus asked in his most distressed voice. Freed and Bickslow stood next to the door out of a bodyguard habit, but the corners of Bickslow’s lips curled down when he looked at Ivan, and Freed was holding the hilt of his sword so hard that his knuckles were white.

His skin was grayer than usual, giving it a muddy complexion. When Laxus leaned in close, he could see every bit of crust that had formed under his sleeping eyes and every little crow’s foot that stretched out to his hairline. His hair was particularly greasy after having not been washed in weeks, and his beard was in no better condition. He vaguely smelled and the prince recoiled, scrunching up his nose in anger and disgust.

“How long is this going to keep up, old man?” he spat. Freed and Bickslow shifted on their feet, but Ivan gave no response. “I’ll wring your neck when you finally crack open your slimy little eyes.”

No response. Laxus’ head was pounding. He slammed his hands against a nightstand next to the bed, gritting his teeth hard. “You targeted her for such obvious reasons, it’s almost funny. Sick son of a bitch. You couldn’t come to me directly, so you murdered an innocent man and blamed the most likely suspect in this damn castle for it.”

Freed cleared his throat and looked at the ground. His knuckles were still white.

“You think this’ll break me?” he hissed, leaning close enough to his father that he could barely smell his sour breath. “That I’ll back down in the competition for the throne and let you have this country, just like that?”

The thought of Evergreen, her hands bloodied and shaking, almost broke him. Almost broke his heart. But more than anything, it made him feel stronger than ever.

“I won’t let you dirty her name like this. I’ll prove that you’re a good-for-nothing coward with nothin’ but foul tricks up his greasy sleeve, and then I’ll bring her home and get rid of you for good.”

Freed once more cleared his throat and spoke up. “I hear footsteps. I believe the clerics will be returning shortly. Wrap it up. Maybe throw some tears into the mix of it all to make it convincing.”

Laxus scowled and gripped the bedsheets, seriously wondering if he could slit Ivan’s throat right there, but the pressure of Bickslow’s warning gaze changed his mind. Instead, he drew himself back up and fixed the collar of his coat and glared down at his father once more.

“Just remember, ‘Dad.’ I could love Evergreen in a day more than I could love you in a lifetime.”

* * *

 

The trees bowed to the wind in her dream.

The wind was deafening, screaming desperately, and it carried away every sound to make itself heard. Dark gray clouds covered the sky, so dark that they were almost black, and a chill wracked Evergreen’s bones so deep that she felt she could never be warm again.

A scream, so inhuman, tore through the wind, and a massive blur dropped from the sky to the ground. When it landed, a statue in the gardens fell over and shattered. The blur spread its wings, flapping them and felling trees, and it regarded her with a tilted head. Her stomach dropped and she threw her arms in front of her, desperate to protect herself. Its eyes were so terribly red, redder than the priest’s blood, and she felt so sick.

If she screamed when the creature charged her, the sound of it was lost to the screeching wind, and her vision went even as red as the monster’s eyes as it lunged.

She woke with a start in her bed a second later, a cold sweat starting on her cheeks, and she huffed, clutching the bedsheets in her shaking fingers. The wind outside was loud, and it was raining, but it was nowhere near as dark and deafening as it had been in her vision. She was in her cottage, a single candle was lit on the other side of the room, and there was no horrible monster bird coming for her with its blinding scarlet eyes.

Evergreen grumbled and slapped her palms over her eyes, scrubbing at her face and wiping away the sweat. She was accustomed to night terrors, so much so that while they still scared her, they rarely left her inconsolable, but this had been oddly different. It had been real. She had been in the castle courtyard, wearing her armor and holding her lance again, and everything had been so familiar.

It had been real. The bird had been real. The chill it let off. Its bloodlust. The pierce of its eyes. The sheen of its black feathers.

Had it been a premonition? Or just a nightmare?

She turned in the bed, trying to get comfortable again. Her eyes landed on the table, where Elfman’s pot from earlier sat washed and sparkling after lunch. He’d been stupider than usual, and she’d laughed at him like she didn’t have a care in the world. Ivan had disappeared from her mind. The thought of all she’d left back in the capital city, back in the castle, had slipped away until he had left, and it had been refreshing.

She sighed and pressed deeper into the mattress. Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket and she tugged it up to her chin and closed her eyes. The wind outside slowed down and rattled tree branches against her window, and she found it soothing.

The bird and blood had just been a nightmare, she was sure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m afraid I wasn’t in a great situation before I came out here,” she began slowly. She closed her eyes as though in deep thought and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I was being used, you see.”  
> His heart skipped a beat and he busied himself by starting to pack up the remains of the dinner in his bag. They’d only left two sandwiches untouched- he’d give them to Gajeel as thanks for the blanket, which he’d also have to wash. “How so?”  
> “There was a man,” she continued, “as there always is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've almost finished writing Lacrimosa!! I had a huge surge of inspiration and managed to knock out a lot of chapters, so it should be updated regularly from this point on- every Monday.

Even Gajeel had become suspicious over the few months, and he always watched Elfman with sharp eyes whenever he headed for the estate’s exit. Levy remained intentionally unaware of the situation, ever the one who preferred her own business to that of others. Lisanna had attempted to follow him into the forest at one point, but he’d managed to lose her when she became more interested in a rabbit that crossed her path. Mirajane continued to worry, but with the investigation of the priest’s murder and the prince’s coma issue still underway, she had little time for anything but it.

“You ought to stop coming here,” Ever would chide every time he came, but her warnings became less stern and more habitual with every passing visit.

“Why?” he would ask.

She wouldn’t say anything after that.

“What do you do when you go out?” Lisanna asked at dinner every day.

“Practice,” Elfman responded- his answer was always automatic.

“With what?”

“My ax.”

“You’ve got to be better than Erza at this point, with all that training you’re doing.” She rested her cheeks in her hands. “Let me come with sometime.”

“You’ve got better things to do.”

“Do I?”

“Probably.”

She never ceased to pepper him with questions, but, as it turned out, she did have better things to do, and it came in the form of playing with the the stray cats who liked to meander around the kitchen area for scraps.

“Why do you keep coming?” Ever asked. “It’s not like there’s anything exciting here. Don’t you have sisters to take care of? Professional knight stuff to do?”

Elfman stopped fiddling with the leg of a broken chair and looked towards the ground. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a poor excuse.”

“I just like it out here, maybe.”

Rather, Elfman admitted to himself, he liked it out in the woods with Ever. It was quiet, peaceful, and she wasn’t a bad cook, not to mention the fact that he didn’t have to hear anything about priests and princes and murderous traitors in her cabin.

“It  _ is  _ nice out here, isn’t it?” she mused. She shook a tablecloth from a basket and began to fold it, looking out at the trees as she did so. “Winter’s going to roll around soon. I can hardly believe it.”

The leg to the chair was still wobbly, but Elfman ceased focusing on it to look at her from the corner of his eye in the most discreet way possible. “Why not?”

“I’ve been out here for almost six months,” she replied quietly. “I thought I wouldn’t be here so long.”

It struck Elfman then that she hadn’t been a hermit her whole life, lurking in the woods and collecting herbs and flowers daily. She had never spoken of anything outside the forest, save for her friend who was never there when Elfman showed up, and he was curious.

“Where did you live before you were here? What did you do?” he asked.

Ever set the tablecloth down on the table and reached into a basket for another thing to fold. Her lips pursed and she looked intently at the creases in the skirt she held, her eyebrows furrowed and a slightly worried expression on her face. “I lived in the capital,” she said finally. “I worked as an herbalist.”

The capital of Magnolia was a lovely city, Elfman knew. He hadn’t been there since the murder of the priest, but he remembered the tall and flowering trees, the bustle of people in the town, and the smooth stone of the castle. It wasn’t much different from the town where the estate was, but it was so much bigger. Livelier.

“Any particular reason you left?” he pressed.

She sniffed and tugged on a stray curl. “I like my alone time, which you, sir, have been violating an abhorrent amount as of late.”

He grinned and leaned over the seat of the chair, muttering “sorry,” but both of them knew it wasn’t a genuine apology at all. She threw a blouse at his face, huffed, and went back to her laundry, though a tiny smile was stretching at the corners of her mouth no matter how she fought it.

Ever had the prettiest smile in the entire world, he decided.

Mirajane cornered him in the kitchen the next day, feigning a casual attitude as she stared intensely at her brother’s cookbook. “Hmm… Big recipe you’re using.”

Elfman coughed to the side and proceeded to mix the batter he’d concocted. “Not really. Just enough for two, maybe three people.”

She looked up at him with her chin pressed against her fingers, a wary and heavy look in her eye. She was so tired, he realized, and guilt then struck him. She had enough to worry about with the murder case, which had dragged on six months too long, and now he was probably causing unnecessary and trivial worry with his disappearing act. He felt guilty, really, but the thought of not going to see his angel in the forest was almost sickening to him at this point.

“Who are you going to feed this cake to?” Mirajane asked.

Elfman fumbled for an answer. “Gajeel.”

She stood straight up and looked dubious, but shrugged and went for the door anyway, not without taking a swipe at the bowl for a treat. Elfman huffed and jerked it away from her, putting on his best fake-mean-face, and she laughed and went on her way, leaving her brother with a sweaty forehead and pounding chest.

Great. Now he had to make an extra cake for Gajeel.

* * *

 

“I don’t see what the point of dragging me up here is,” Ever muttered. The wind pulled at her hair and she whisked a hand over the side, tugging every unruly strand back to its place. She had selected a fitting dark blue dress for the day and a heavy gray sweater to brace against the oncoming winter winds- she looked like an angry goddess in the pestering breeze.

The wind picked up as they climbed the hill, and while Elfman was not bothered by it at all, Ever had to do her best to keep her hair from billowing every which way and to not stumble over every rotting log in her path. During a particularly nasty patch, where she tripped over a rock, he offered her his arm and took every care to guide her up carefully. She looked graceful, had all the airs of a queen, but she was much too clumsy for her own good.

Her hand squeezed his forearm as she stepped over a small flower and he balanced his bag in the other hand, focused perhaps more than was necessary on her wellbeing. The hill was growing more green than dying brown and gray, and there was much more proper footing as they went towards the top. At the first opportune moment, she let go of his arm and took caution on her own, but soon accepted his help again when a stream came in their path.

“What’s in the bag?” she pestered.

“You’ll see,” he answered whenever she asked.

The spot he had picked was nice, if he did say so himself. A lone tree, crooked and tangled, rested near the top of the hill and shaded a thick patch of grass that hid patches of wildflowers. Levy had proved very helpful when he asked her about an ideal spot for a romantic picnic, and her eyes had glittered with the enthusiasm of a very young girl.

As they reached the top and she huffed and puffed, Elfman gripped the bag a little tighter and swallowed any feeling of residual embarrassment he still had. He’d already dragged her out of her comfort zone with the promise of flowers and pulled her up a steep hill in a ferocious breeze, and there was no going back.

“What  _ was  _ the point of climbing up that godforsaken hill?” she gasped and he jumped.

His heart pounded and he felt like he was sweating buckets- disgusting. She’d recovered and was hovering right behind now, her arms crossed over her chest and a wary look on her face. He swallowed, mustered up every bit of courage he had, and took a firm step towards the tree.

“I-I, uh, wanted to take you on a picnic.”

Ever remained quiet and he didn’t dare to look at her. The seconds stretched much too long, but the fact that she wasn’t laughing encouraged him an appropriate amount. He heard the grass scrunch as she shifted and imagined that she was thinking very carefully about the words she would use next.

“What did you pack?”

Was this it? The defining moment? Elfman coughed and mumbled, “Sandwiches” as quietly as possible.

“Is that all?”

“There may be a cake in here. It may be kinda smushed.”

There was a sigh and he turned to see her put her hands on her hips. “Well. If you bothered to make something and plan this, I guess it would be kind of me to indulge you.”

Phase one of mission: Complete.

The wind had fortunately thinned out and turned into a comfortable and fluttering breeze. She helped him spread the blanket he’d removed from his bag, which had been stolen from Gajeel’s room because it was the softest blanket in the entire castle, and sat on it and played with flowers while Elfman removed the meal from his bag.

Was this a date? Did she see  _ anything  _ romantic behind it? Elfman hoped that he wasn’t being too forward- Ever seemed like the exact type of girl to pull away as soon as she felt things were too forward or too fast, which was rather unfortunate for Elfman; forward and fast were possibly the only things he knew and he had never attempted, even vaguely, to court anyone before.

Oh, boy. This felt like a disaster in the making.

She set aside her flowers in favor of a sandwich as soon as he settled down. He made it a point to sit across from her, right in the way of the wind, but he doubted she noticed. The herbalist seemed most intent and focused on her sandwich, which Lisanna had cluelessly helped to make. Did she really think he was going to eat 10 sandwiches all on his own? It was almost insulting, but later he had to begrudgingly admit that his track record all pointed towards “Yes, my older brother _will_ , in fact,eat 10 sandwiches on his own and it is not weird at all. It can happen.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asked while she reached for a bag of crackers.

“Occasion?” Elfman echoed stupidly.  He dug around his mind for an answer. The options he came up with were either a) tell it to her straight and admit to feeling for her or b) come up with a stupid, lameass excuse. 

Unfortunately, Elfman specialized in b-style answers.

“Are you ever going to talk?”

“I like to eat outside!” Elfman blurted out. She stared blankly at him, a cracker hanging out of her mouth, and he shoved half a sandwich inside his mouth to avoid any further questions.

The rest of the picnic was peppered with small talk here and there, but Elfman was focused too much on not looking like a pure idiot to speak properly; Ever was much too distracted by consuming three sandwiches and two apples to care.

He pulled the cake out of the bag, winced at its appearance, and was immediately assaulted with the burning question of, “Did you make that?”

“This?” It had been a pretty cake when he packed it, with a pure white outside and drizzled with strings of chocolate, but now it looked more like something one could find on the forest floor. “Y-yeah. I promise it looked better before, but the climb was a little rough, so-”

“Wow!” Her eyes sparkled and her hands clapped together eagerly as she regarded the mess. “It looks so great! I’m totally impressed, Elfman.”

Ever had given him plenty of praise in the past months, whenever he helped out around her house, caught an elk to cook for dinner, or successfully learned how to do another type of stitch in a knitting project, but no praise had ever made him feel so fulfilled and warm as when she complimented his awful, ugly mess of a cake. It made him so stupidly happy that he felt he would melt.

“You made it all by yourself?” she asked again as he attempted to divvy it up.

“Why the surprise?” he defended.

“I knew you were a good cook, but I had no idea you could do baking and stuff like that,” she explained. She didn’t bother with the plate he offered her and instead took the wad of cake he handed her in her hands, holding it with a certain sort of reverence that he did his best not to laugh at.

“My sister taught me,” he told her as she took a bite. “I’m not as good as her, but-”

“It’s delicious!”

“What.”

The look of joy on her face was purely idiotic, but the most endearing thing he had ever seen in his life, and he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. She’d made a messily-woven flower crown that sad in her lap while he’d been setting up for the picnic and it didn’t make him feel any better at all.

“You should bring me more of these,” she claimed. “I’ll eat all of them if you won’t.”

His cheeks burned and he took his own bite of the cake, mumbling something under his breath that she was much too absorbed in her slice to hear properly.

“Say it again?” she asked.

Elfman coughed and turned the cake in his hands. “You learned something about me, so why don’t I learn somethin’ about you? It’s only manly.”

Her eyebrow twitched at his inappropriate use of the word and she stayed quiet, considering it. She finished her slice of cake and was started on a second when she finally responded with a muttered “sure.”

“Why’d you move out here?” he asked, leaning forward. He hadn’t asked her in months, and now that she was less wary of him, maybe just a little more trusting, and also deliriously happy and high on cake, she would respond.

Her second slice vanished and she wiped her hands against a cloth. Her eyes remained glued to the ground as she weighed his request, and she finally sighed and shut her eyes. The grass beneath her bent as she leaned backwards on her hands, staring up at the sky. Elfman looked up with her and observed a thin and wispy cloud that was travelling particularly fast in the wind.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t in a great situation before I came out here,” she began slowly. She closed her eyes as though in deep thought and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “I was being used, you see.”

His heart skipped a beat and he busied himself by starting to pack up the remains of the dinner in his bag. They’d only left two sandwiches untouched- he’d give them to Gajeel as thanks for the blanket, which he’d also have to wash. “How so?”

“There was a man,” she continued, “as there always is.”

Elfman kept cleaning, but stole a look at her face- she looked oddly at peace while she gazed at the sky. He found it painful to look at her and focused on something else.

“There isn’t that much to the story. He used me- got me in a real bad situation that got me in a lot of trouble. I came out here to hide from all of it.”

“Did he hurt you?” he asked. He wondered if he had ever used so quiet of a voice.

“Yes, he did.”

He gripped a plate in his hand and found he could not stop the shaking. The edges of it cracked quietly and he shoved it in the bag, swearing up a storm in his mind.

“I owe it to that friend of mine, really do.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stared at the bark of the tree. “He’s saved me a lot of times. He’s the reason I’m out here. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank him well enough.”

“But what happened to the guy that hurt you?” Elfman demanded. His hand still quivered.

Ever jumped slightly at the ferocity in his voice and stood, brushing tiny bits of grass and petals off of her skirt. The flower crown fell to the ground and she left it there. “I imagine he’s safe and sound, but I try not to worry about it.

Elfman threw the bag over his shoulder and stood, pulling up the corner of the blanket. “Aren’t you scared that guy will come after you? Why don’t you worry about it?”

She took the other side of the blanket and pulled it towards her until he released it- she began to fold. “Well. I think I’ve encountered someone who helps me not worry about it.”

* * *

 

A cold hand rested on his cheek again, such a familiar touch. It was so feather-light, so gentle, and it only barely woke Elfman up. Moonlight filtered brightly through the window- the curtains were yanked to the sides and tied, allowing it to enter the house completely. Two blankets had been drawn over him to cover him entirely, and Ever sat next to him and stared away to the wall.

They’d gotten back to the house late, and though she had pestered him to leave to make it home in time, he’d ignored her in favor of staying nearby. By the time he felt it was time to leave, it was too dark to travel. At some point he must have decided to stay there for the night and she had indulged him and made him comfortable, though he’d chosen to sleep on the ground.

“Staying here was a real idiot move, y’know?” she scolded.

He was still half-asleep. He chose to close his eyes again and listen to the sound of her voice.

“Your sisters are probably going to get worried, you big moron. I don’t want to get in the way of your family life.”

She stayed quiet for a few more minutes and barely touched his hand. He struggled to not twitch.

“Elfman. You’re a nice guy. You’ve been so attentive to me these past months. I’m pretty grateful to have met someone like you.”

He huffed and turned a little. Her fingers leaped away and she coughed into her hand, waiting a while to check if he was awake.

“I’m angry that you keep coming back. It’s given me a lot of good memories, and they’re surely going to hurt later. After all-” Her hand rested atop his and wrapped around it. “Our goodbye is fated.”

* * *

 

With a deep inhale Mirajane watched her brother from the window of her office. He was wandering into the forest again, as he’d done so frequently over the past few months, and there was a hefty bag slung over his shoulder. Again. She had to wonder what he kept in those bags, where he went, and why he was always gone so long. Last week he had even been gone all night and showed up towards noon the next day with a guilty look on his face.

She was an older sister. Of course she was worried. The age difference between them was just less than a couple of years, but hadn’t she practically raised him? That he was so obviously keeping secrets from her flipped her stomach and made her viciously ill. She had to worry about the murder investigation, she had to worry about overseeing her bit of the kingdom, and she especially had to worry about her siblings, and it was all feeling too heavy on her shoulders. Mirajane was just one young woman, after all, strong and knightly as she was.

“Your Grace?” a guard asked. He was a tall, well-built man, one of her bodyguards for the past months since the murder. King Makarov had asked that every High Knight keep a capable guard close until the case was closed, for extra measures. “Is something wrong, your Grace?”

Mira turned from the window, her snow white hair tangled and messed from a night of bad sleep, and she twisted her hands together. Her wide sleeves frisked through the air as she paced and wrung and paced some more. He watched her anxiously, along with his shorter and skinnier partner who clung to his guard lance anxiously. They watched her with concern that they didn’t bother to veil. Everyone loved Mirajane. Everyone worried about her. She wondered, with her next thought, if she was even worth it.

“I want you to follow him,” she said suddenly, so much so that she wondered if she’d actually said it.

The guard tilted his head just a bit. “Your Grace?”

“Elfman. My brother.” She clapped her hands together in front of her stomach, as though praying. Oh, how horrible she was, invading his privacy in what could be a very deep way. It made her almost as ill as the worry. “I’m so worried about him.”

He rubbed at his chin and glared in thought. “Your brother, the one who’s been disappearing for these past months? It is oddly suspicious.”

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but I don’t know if I can keep on like this. I already have the murder on my plate, all the normal work, I can’t keep worrying about what he’s doing.” She waved a hand and huffed. “I-it’s probably nothing more than solo training, but, please, I want to know for sure. So, can you please?”

A look of doubt never crossed his face. He straightened up and saluted her with his fingers to his brow. “Your Grace! As you please!”

They left the room and she watched with a twisting stomach and aching head, watched out the window as they followed his path into the forest.

Oh, gods, what had she done?

* * *

 

In a castle a forest away, a cleric leaned over her patient, scrutinizing his face with a certain anxiety. The crown prince was slimy and, if she were being quite honest, a bit disgusting, and having to lean so close to check his vitals was not her cup of tea.

He’d been asleep for so long- five months and 27 days, if she was going to be exact, and his murderer had still not been caught. She remained hidden, and it rather miffed the cleric, but she also felt a bit happy about it. Evergreen. The taciturn and lovely personal knight of the equally quiet Prince Laxus, a young lady who always caught a clumsy maid when she fell and made as little trouble and hassle in the infirmary as possible. They had always liked Evergreen- castle staff, that was. She had the elegance of a queen and a quiet sort of caring. The cleric had been deeply troubled when she’d heard about the situation with the priest.

The young woman had to wonder if the dilemma was even entirely true, but she kept to herself. She was just a cleric. Law-keeping and justice weren’t in her job description. In her job description, however, was watching over crusty old princes and constantly holding healing staves over them, even though they were crusty old princes who had a habit of staring too long at her and her friends’ buttocks when they were not in six-month-long-comas.

“No change,” she whispered to herself as she stood straight. She reached for a clipboard with his personal papers on them, prepared to write the same-old answer  _ (weak vitals, weak breathing, no signs of waking) _ and then a wiry hand clapped around her wrist.

She screamed loud enough to wake the dead as Prince Ivan stared right at her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her body tensed in a way that it hadn’t in months, like a cat about to pounce, and the old but familiar sensation of her heart speeding up rushed through her. He was here for her. She was going to fight her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... i said updates would be regular.......... i like lied a little obviously. two weeks ago, i had school competitions the day following the monday and was bustling to prepare for them, and then last week just flat out SUCKED and i slept most of the time and played fire emblem. bUT here it is and hopefully now they will be regular.

A clicking echoed through the empty house as Evergreen finished the final row on her scarf. The first signs of cold were showing with every leaf fallen from its branch, and she had begged Laxus to bring her some yarn to knit herself something warm with. He’d gotten it to her as soon as possible and made her promise that he would get a matching one to keep him warm around the castle, which frequently got cold when Natsu was out and not tending to the fires.

She wondered if Elfman would come to see her that day. His visits were frequent, yes, but haphazard. He always came at least three times a week, however, and usually around the current time. It seemed stupid and childish for so eagerly anticipating a visit, but he had kept her such good company in the past six months that she found herself almost miserable when he wasn’t around her.

He was sweet. Kind. Not many people had looked at her as warmly as he always did. And when he was around her, she didn’t think about Ivan, didn’t think about the priest’s blood on her hands, and she laughed freely and felt at peace. She felt like a ridiculous child, in short, but she liked it, and she had long since stopped fighting it.

Evergreen trusted Elfman. And she had not trusted anyone new in a long time.

She dragged her needle through the last hole and tied it off, huffing with satisfaction at her clean rows and neat work. She’d finished Laxus’ a few days before and now felt much too impatient to give it to him when he next visited. He promised that he would come within the next couple of days and that he would bring her favorite treat from a local bakery with him. He was spoiling her more, and it was obvious that with every passing day where Ivan did not wake and he found no way to clear her name that he felt more and more guilty.

Though it was quiet and peaceful in the forest, though she had Elfman and all the flowers she wanted, Evergreen had to admit that she missed home. She missed Bickslow hanging from the oddest of places to frighten unsuspecting maids, she missed Freed and his gentle hands that brushed her hair every night, and she missed Laxus, seeing him in his princely clothes, as strong and sure as lightning. She missed her griffon and even the few maids and clerics who liked to talk to her. The library, the kitchen, the gardens- a wave of nostalgia and longing hit her.

Evergreen wanted out. She wanted to be back in Magnolia, and she wanted to be there fast, and she wanted to punch Ivan right in his pointy little jaw.

“Laaaaxus,” she moaned as she threw her head against the table. “Hurry uuuup.”

A branch outside broke and she started a bit, clutching the knitting needle in her hand like a weapon. That sound was much too heavy to be a branch broken by a tiny animal like a rabbit and much too sure to have been broken by a lumbering animal like a bear or moose. There was a person outside, and after a minute, she relaxed. It was undoubtedly Elfman, and she sighed and stood from her chair and swiped at her skirt to get rid of little pieces of yarn that had collected there.

“What’re you doing sneaking around out there, El-!”

The door flew open violently, little bits of the wood scattering through the air as a tall man kicked it down. Ever squeaked and jumped, alarmed at the sudden entrance, and the two stared at each other for just a moment. He stared at her in obvious surprise while she looked dismayed at the door. She hadn’t even _locked_ it. The kicking was completely unnecessary. Couldn’t he have knocked? What did he even-

Her eyes fell upon the crest on his chest plate, the symbol of the national army, and her mind went numb. Her body tensed in a way that it hadn’t in months, like a cat about to pounce, and the old but familiar sensation of her heart speeding up rushed through her. He was here for her. She was going to fight her way out.

The knight didn’t have a second to react before she threw the needle at him. The blunt object whacked him square on the forehead and he yelped, instinctively reacting to the sharp pain that he assumed would come, and Ever lunged for him with her fist pulled back.

He reacted quickly this time and leaned to the side as she threw a punch. His hands gripped her arm and he began to pull her forward and up, and as she was lifted off the ground, she swung her legs forward and planted them firmly on his chest and wrested her wrist free from his grip. He yelled as she kicked him solidly in the jaw and began to choke. She fell towards the ground, but came back to her feet in a second as he drew his sword.

Sharp, pointy sticks. Great.

He lunged forward with the blade and a manic look befitting of a wolf in his eyes. She moved around the blade with her teeth grit. Her body was already screaming- she hadn’t fought since she’d run into the band of brigands in the woods a long time ago. She was out of shape, made soft by the comforts of forest life, and her muscles complained about being thrown back into the thick of action so suddenly, but she didn’t have time for a spare breath. Her body was still strong.

She planted her fist square against his face and felt his nose crumble like paper underneath her knuckles. A hot spurt of blood gushed from his nose and splattered onto her white shirt. He yelled but kept his hand on his sword and lashed out, hoping to keep her away while he recovered. Ever jumped back, but she was so slow after so long- the blade nicked her arm enough to draw immediate blood. It trickled down her elbow and only served to fuel her adrenaline. When was the last time she’d seen her blood? It used to be such a regular event, and now it was so frightening that it sent her heart into a tizzy.

“Go away!” she yelled. She’d found herself in the kitchen and looked towards the stove- a frying pan with a heavy bottom that she’d used to make breakfast sat there and she grabbed it. It was a sloppy weapon, but thick enough to be a functional shield and hefty enough to crack a skull.

“His tracks led here,” the knight was mumbling and still clutching his crushed nose. “To this maniac?”

Ever faltered, just a bit. The pan fell forward in her hands slightly. “He” only meant one person. Elfman hadn’t meant to, surely he hadn’t, but he’d led the royal army right to her front door. Did they know it was _her_? The country’s current largest fugitive? Or had she provoked this knight unnecessarily in her wild and impulsive instinct? It didn’t matter- she’d proved she was a threat and now he would stop at nothing to see her impaled on the end of his sword.

The man took a stance and swung out with his sword in a wide, professional arc. Ever leaned back and took a swing of her own with the pan, successfully clashing against his steel. He grit his teeth and pressed forward, staring at her with the intensity of the sun. With a shout she stepped back from the clash and lunged forward, aiming the pan at his side. It successfully collided with his leather armor and he yelled, blindly taking another swing at her. The blade dug into the juncture of her shoulder and neck and she cried out- that one hurt.

He clutched at his side while she stumbled back and tried to stop the flow of blood that ran down her chest. He sniffed and spit out a tiny wad of spit and blood before slurring through the blood that flowed in his mouth, “I recognize you now.”

Her body stiffened and she couldn’t stop her legs from shaking viciously.

“You were the prince’s right hand knight. Or one of them, more precisely.” He rubbed at his messy face and smirked, staring at her as though she was a particularly nice piece of game entangled in a hunting trap. “Meaning you’re the murderer who’s been evading the kingdom for so damn long.”

“Shut up!”

She flung the pan at him, her chest heaving as she struggled to breath through a fit of panic, but he sidestepped it easily and looked like he was about to have a good laugh. Had her throw been straight at all in the first place? She couldn't tell. Her mind was foggy and tears were starting to burn behind her eyes as she gasped deeply for air. The side of the table bumped into her hip as she wobbled back into it. Her hand reached out for balance. She didn't want to be captured. She didn't want to be executed. She wanted to go back with Laxus. She didn't want Elfman to ever think that she'd killed an innocent man.

Her hands gripped around the hard edges of fabric shears and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t go with them.

Not alive.

She flipped the blade around in her hands, bringing the sharp point to face her, a few tears escaped from her eyes, and the window behind her broke. The scissors slipped out of her hands right when a blunt, hard object smashed against the back of her head, and she followed them to the floor.

* * *

 “Okay, so, do you think I should tell her?” Elfman asked. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up to the treetops. “I mean, it's been a few months. It's not like it would be sudden. If she says she likes me back, great! If she laughs in my face, my heart’ll be broken, sure, but I could get over it.” He coughed and looked at his companion. “Right?”

The squirrel on his shoulder glared at him without a hint of encouragement. It chittered something to its new friend and went back to cracking open its nut on the metal of his shoulder guard.

“Right, right.” Elfman held up his hand and waved it at the squirrel. “You're right. Too soon. I’ll wait a bit longer.”

It squeaked and sounded satisfied by his response.

“I mean, she's got to have enough on her plate,” he speculated. “She's always working on a project, or she's out in the forest gathering, or-” He paused to clear his throat and rub at it. “She’s got to worry about that guy who used her.”

Elfman did not have the details on the situation- who the man was, what he did, how long it went on, but he did have a raging and burning feeling in stomach and a roaring in his head whenever he so much as gave it a passing thought. Was her mysterious friend working to fix the problem? Would she go back to her home if a solution was found? It would be odd to not be able to see her whenever he felt the urge, but if home was where she was happy, he hoped she got to go back to that place.

“I should've been there by now,” he grumbled to the squirrel. “Damn you for being cute and cuddly and distracting me.”

His friend chittered happily and finally broke open its nut and began to gorge on it. The critter had fallen on his head as he entered the forest, probably after retrieving its lunch from the tree, and he'd spent a good five minutes rubbing it under its chin and listening to it happily squeak at the new friendship.

Elfman rubbed his jaw and glared at the ground and mumbled, “What really worries me is something she said when I was asleep at her house last week. I was barely awake, but I think she said something like our goodbye was fated.” The squirrel huffed and he nodded in agreement. “I know. Totally over dramatic, right?”

The man and his companion jumped the next moment at the very obvious sound of glass shattering. The squirrel squealed and scampered down his arm and jumped to the ground. It looked at him and chattered- Elfman clenched his fists and nodded.

“Right. I’ll go see what that was. It’s a man’s job to investigate!”

Besides, the only glass within the next while to break belonged to Ever.

He raced through the forest, slapping away branches that reached to stop him, and even managed to avoid his usual stumbling over rocks hidden so well in the earth. Ever might be in trouble. The man she’d fled from may have found her at last, and maybe he had a knife to her throat that very moment. The glass had shattered thirty seconds ago at least, and Ever was a civilian. She didn't know how to fight. Maybe she was already dead.

He had to stop briefly to try and keep from being terribly sick at the thought of her blood, but he gave himself only so long before he took off again.

His chest felt like it wanted to burst open. His lungs screamed for relief, but his heart pounded and he thought so little of himself and only of her that he ignored his limits. Her house was just over the top of the hill, and he was so so close, and-

His foot caught on a root and he yelped- very unmanly- and rolled down the hill. A branch ripped open his cheek and a boulder smashed into his shoulder blade, but all he cared about was that he had probably gotten to the bottom of the hill faster that way.

When he finally got his bearings and to his knees, groaning and shaking dead leaves from his hair, he was greeted with the sound of footsteps and grunting men that he recognized clearly from the estate. One of them held a lance tightly and marched with the dignity of the common soldier. The other dragged a young woman by her brown curls. Her skirt was black and a bit torn and her collared white shirt had blood stains. Her wrists were bound together and tied shoddily with a strip of red silk.

They were dragging Ever.

“Hey!” he shouted.

The soldiers jumped and turned to look at him with blank looks that were almost stupid painted on their faces. The one dragging her began to stammer out a title and a greeting, but quickly shut up when Elfman picked him up by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him off the ground.

His head pounded so fiercely that he wondered if he would even be able to speak, but he did manage, “What are you doing?”

The knight had let go of her hair when he was yanked from the ground and his companion was holding her by the shoulders as though she would wake suddenly and dash. Her arm was bleeding, but not so heavily as her lower neck, and trickles of blood slid down the side of her head.

The knight in his hands tilted his head and cleared his throat. “Sir. What are _you_ doing?”

“I’m here to see a friend,” he hissed. His grip around the man’s shoulders tightened.

The soldier raised an eyebrow and glowered down at his captured victim. “I see. So we tracked right- this _is_ where you were coming to all this while.”

“Who sent you?” Elfman demanded. “Why were you following my trail? This is out of line.”

The man refused to speak until he was set back on the ground, though his shoulders were still prey to the larger man. “Your sister sent us, sir. Her Grace is unspeakably worried, especially after you vanished for that night last week.” He looked again at Ever and spread his hands open. “But I understand now. Given the chance to sleep with a beautiful girl like her, I would also-”

He choked as Elfman threw him against the fence and held his arm to his throat. The other knight shouted, but refused to leave his position holding Ever.

“You-” The man struggled to breathe. “Don't know… who she… is.”

Elfman narrowed his eyes.

The knight began to laugh, though it came out more like a gurgle. “I’ll tell you.” He cleared his throat when Elfman lightened his choke on him and continued with his lips curled and his brow furrowed in disgust. “She's a whore, sir. She was-”

Again, he squeaked as he found himself pinned harder than ever.

Elfman felt like he would start foaming at the lips any second. A haze of red covered his vision and he contemplated snapping the knight’s neck right there. “Accuse her of that again, I _dare_ you.”

“But he’s right.”

Elfman swiveled his around to glare at the other man. The one in his grip struggled for breath and looked as though his eyes were about to pop out.

The knight with Ever in his arms cleared his throat and did his best to look brave. “He’s right, sir. This woman is a street urchin and criminal.” He glared down at her with enough disgust that Elfman considered snapping his neck as well. “This young lady is Fiore’s most wanted.”

* * *

 Bickslow’s hands felt cold, painfully cold, and he could not stop them from shaking when the knights came in, dragging Evergreen by her hair. He wanted to beat them all away, take her, and run with her. It would be her only chance.

Freed and Laxus held his arms as he strained to reach her, every vile insult spewing from his mouth.

* * *

 Bickslow had the right intentions, really. Swooping in to save Evergreen was an appealing notion, but one they couldn't indulge. If they tried to be heroes, they'd just end up with handcuffs slapped around their wrists and be in nearly as bad a position as her. But Freed wanted to lunge in. One of the knights had a broken nose and smug look on his face and it was obvious that he was the culprit.

He settled for wrapping his hand around the hilt of his sword and thinking of a variety of ways he could prove her innocence.

* * *

 Laxus was ready to throw something- or someone. His idiot father had woken up yesterday and lost no time in testifying against Evergreen ( _“It was horrifying! She completely brutalized that poor man and would've undoubtedly done away with me if she had the guts.”_ ), and now she was being dragged into the castle with blood on her clothes and a troop of knights guarding her like a criminal.

She wasn't a criminal. She was just a kid, a dirty, mangy kid that was unfortunate enough to be born into the slums and looked at him with far more, so much more love than he deserved.

He had to save her.

* * *

The agony in her head was what woke Evergreen up, rather than the guard dumping a bucket of ice water over her. Pain was always the surefire way to wake someone, even from the deepest sleep. Not water. Not shouting. A good kick to the gut was the way to get someone up and going.

She was on her side, her cheek pressed to the floor. She sputtered and coughed as the water filled her nose. It burned fiercely, but couldn’t compare to the stinging of the knot on the back of her head. The guard with the bucket exhaled through his nose, a satisfied sound, and backed away from her. He was someone she had seen once or twice, but she couldn’t recall his name. She never remembered names. She was bad with others. She regretted that.

The water soaked into her shirt and chilled her to the the bone. The cloth clung uncomfortably against her chest and her hair stuck to every crevice of her face. She coughed again and shook her head like a dog, dislodging the strands and expelling enough water to make the guard standing above her uncomfortable. He grumbled and then said something to her, but the fuzz in her head turned his words into gibberish.

The ground was marble, beautiful, but smooth and cold and completely unlike the warm wood and grass that she’d known for the last months. She huffed and struggled to her knees, pulling experimentally at the handcuffs that kept her hands behind her back. A guard approached her, jittery, and pointed the edge of his sword at her- a superior held him back and shook her head, allowing the prisoner to kneel and work through her haze.

There were ten pairs of feet at the very least, from what she could make out, and she was utterly surrounded. The cuffs on her wrists were of the highest quality, steel and biting. A bandage had been placed neatly around her arm and wrapped around her collarbone, near where she’d taken the long slice from the sword, and it showed no sign of further bleeding. It was obvious she was in the castle, in an area near the court’s meeting room; she recognized the sparkling purple rug and the massive chandelier hanging above her head.

She was home, but in the most unfortunate circumstances.

* * *

 Footsteps thunked through the hall, heavy, rhythmic- Elfman was pacing, almost stomping, and Lisanna had fled the hallway a few minutes before to leave him and Mirajane alone. The hallway remained utterly empty and silent, as everyone on staff had been tempted away to see the spectacle, the murderer caught at last, bleeding and chained, and Mira stood right in the middle of the corridor and twisted her fingers together.

“Why?” Elfman muttered to himself for the umpteenth time, and then finally stopped pacing. The silence buzzed in his ears and he lifted his voice to his sister. “Why?”

She swallowed and lifted her hands, clapping them to her chest as though in prayer. She’d been called to the castle and brought Lisanna and Elfman with her- even when her duties as a High Knight called, she never left them far behind. She’d changed into her official wear, a flowing white dress with sparkling silver armor covering her and long boots. She looked ethereal and god-like, but he could not see her that way in the moment.

“I had no idea this was what was happening when I asked them to follow you,” she began in a quavering voice. “That you were off cavorting with a _murderer_.”

“She’s _not_ a murderer!” he shouted, and his voice lashed angrily against the walls.

Mirajane lowered her hands and narrowed her eyes. “Yes, she is. And you’re lucky she didn’t kill you. If she knew who you were and your relation to me, then-”

“She did!” he argued. “She knew who I was and never did anything to me.”

His sister’s shoulders stiffened, but she regained her composure after another second. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that she murdered the kingdom’s High Priest, and put the Crown Prince into a coma for nearly six months.” She pressed her lips and kept quiet for a long minute. Elfman did not move an inch and opted to stare at the ground. His boots were scuffed from his tumble down the hill. “How long have you been… _with_ her?”

He flinched. “What are you implying?”

Mirajane coughed uncomfortably and looked very guilty, but steeled her nerves. “What I _mean_ is, how long have you been sleeping with her?”

He grit his teeth. “I did nothing of the sort.”

She put her hands on her hips and looked away. “Then I believe you. It isn’t like you, anyway. But how long were you visiting her?”

He remained silent for a long while, then crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “Around five months.”

“Why?”

“I like her.” He looked to the ground and avoided the sight of any inch of his sister. “I like her a lot.”

“What were you doing?”

“Talking. We cooked. She taught me how to knit, but I’m not good at it.” He rubbed his arms. “Sometimes we took walks.”

“Elfman. Look at me.” He did not, and she took wide strides until she reached him. Her fingers clamped around his jaw and she jerked his head towards her- Mirajane had never forced him to do anything before. “ _Look at me_.”

Her eyes were strong, steel, but her lips were quivering when he finally did look at her. Mirajane wore her heart on her sleeve and it was not hard to tell that she was feeling anguished, maybe even guilty, but it was also obvious what she thought: She was in the right. She was a High Knight of Fiore and she was doing the right thing for her country.

“Ever isn’t a murderer.”

“Evergreen was formerly one of the right-hand knights of the second prince of the country, Laxus. Did you know that?” she inquired.

“No.” His stomach churned.

“Six months ago, almost to the day, she was found in the room of the late High Priest, who was meeting with the Crown Prince Ivan. The priest had been butchered with an ax, undoubtedly her own, and the prince was beaten and unconscious. She had blood on her hands, Elfman.” Mirajane’s voice had taken on a professional tone, sharp and quick. “Elfman.”

Every bit of evidence pointed to her, but he squeezed his eyes shut as though to block it out. Ever had a lovely smile. She had cold, but gentle, fingers. She carried him out of the forest, out of a certain death, and spent three sleepless days ensuring he healed while he slept. She made him food. Patched him up after he got hurt when using a sickle in her garden for the first time, and she was an angel.

His angel.

Not a murderer.

“She didn’t do it,” he insisted once more. With more force than necessary, he slapped Mira’s hands away from his face and glared down at her. “I know.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes began to gleam with tears, but she kept her voice steady and stepped away from him. “I’m required to be in the meeting room soon,” she told him.

“Go then,” he growled.

“Listen to me, brother,” she warned. “She is not what you think. She brutalized the knight I sent to look for you. The clerics have been reconstructing his nose for an hour now. She isn’t a sweet little girl wanting for you to dote on her- she’s dangerous, and her records prove it.”

Mirajane’s heels clicked ominously as she trailed out of the hall, and Elfman looked after her, his own boots glued to the ground. He had never before had ill feelings towards his oldest sister, but now anger was bursting in his veins and he didn’t have any idea what to do with himself. Dangerous? Records? It didn’t make any sense. His head felt ready to explode. He just knew that Ever was Ever, and that Ever wasn’t a murderer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man’s face twisted into a rage Elfman had never seen before, his lips pulled tight in a beastly scowl, and he smashed him into the wall so hard that his shoulder popped. “So it was you! It’s your fault that she’s going to die! You brought her here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. yesterday was really busy BUT i still got it published this week so im safe

Death by hanging. Death by hanging. Evergreen hadn’t seemed too bothered by it, though her skin had gone white as the marble floor. But she hadn’t collapsed to her knees. She hadn’t burst into tears. She’d let the guards chain her and drag her to the dungeon, where she’d be locked up for another week-and-a-half until they executed her.

The memory of Ivan’s slippery grin made Laxus’ skin boil. Freed scolded him when he punched a sizable dent into the wall, but Bickslow had nothing to say. He seemed to be in shock and a cleric led him away to the infirmary. Another was steering Ivan in a wheelchair, though it was obvious from the way that his father was stretching his legs that he did not need it. The cleric looked rather annoyed.

“Don’t,” Freed warned when Laxus took a step towards him. “You’ll aggravate the situation.”

“‘Aggravate the situation?’” he sputtered. “It’s already aggravated enough as it is! Freed, they’re going to hang her!”

His knight took a deep breath and shut his eyes, composing himself before he spoke. “There’s still time.”

“Time? There’s still time?” Laxus laughed and leaned against the wall. “We’ve spent six months going through every document, turning over every goddamn rock and looking in every crevice to find some proof that Ivan is the traitor, not Ever. Six months, Freed.”

“Yes, but-”

“What are we going to find in a week that we didn’t find in six months?”

Freed opened his mouth to say something, shut it, and then repeated the process. He looked like a fish gasping for air, which is how Laxus himself felt. Makarov had lent a sympathetic ear to Laxus when he’d confronted him shortly before the final verdict was given, but the king only had so much power- the jury, most of whom were under Ivan’s greasy thumb, were the ones with the real power when it came to a judgement. The king had looked sick and pale when he’d declared the sentence was execution, and he’d been escorted out by Erza and Lucy not a moment later.

“We’ll look at the records again,” Freed said.

“Sure. The records.”

“Yes. The records. And we’ll go into town. There’s gotta be some disgusting little tavern where he plots and schemes.”

Laxus scoffed. “You make him sound like a villain from a fairy tale.”

“But isn’t he?” Freed mused. He took the prince by the arm and began to guide him away from the court’s room and towards his chambers. “A magnificent and intelligent mage and prince, plotting to rule over the kingdom and abuse his power? It’s so stereotypical, I want to vomit.”

* * *

 Not a single soul would tell him what the verdict was. Elfman paced outside the door and pestered every person who came out of it, but they only gave him odd looks and scurried on their way. His hands shook when they brought Ever- _Evergreen_ , that was her actual name- out from the courtroom, lead along by chains just like a dog.

“Ever!” he shouted over the thin bustle of people, and she jumped. Her eyes went wide and she strained against her chains- a guard tugged on them harshly and raised a hand above her in threat, and Elfman could make out her lips saying his name, but they took her away with harsh pulls and jabs against her back with sheathed swords.

Tears pressed against his eyes, but he held them in and stumbled back against the wall. The fact that she was in chains didn’t bode well. She wasn’t free, and he had also seen Prince Ivan be wheeled out with an oddly smug look on his face. Elfman hadn’t ever encountered the prince before, but knew from stories that he was a bittered man with a keen mind and fearsome magical ability.

“Sister!” he called when Mirajane walked out of the room. She showed him no heed, however, and walked down the hall to follow the prince with stiff shoulders and hardened eyes.

Not a single soul would tell him what the verdict was. He was sweating buckets.

“Hey, you.” A man with olive green hair stopped behind Elfman and glared up at him with furrowed eyebrows. Another was behind him, taller by a head and with striking orange eyes and pale blond hair. “What’re you doing here? I don’t think I recognize you.”

He coughed, looked over his shoulder and to both sides, then stupidly pointed at himself. The man, dressed in fine armor and holding a sword with an ornate pommel at his hip, observed the open wound on his cheek, huffed, and nodded.

“I-I was here with my sister, Mira. The accused is my friend, so I-”

His back slammed into the wall. His already sore body screeched, but he remained quiet. The green-haired man had his hand on his sword and looked ready to strike in an instant, but the one who pinned him was the blond one. His hands, clenched tightly around the collar of Elfman’s shirt, shook, but his face had no emotion.

“‘Friend?” he echoed. “Don’t screw with me. I ain’t ever seen you before in my life.”

Elfman couldn’t breath, and despite all his strength, he was unable to pry the hands from him. “I-I met her… when she was hi-hiding!”

The man’s face twisted into a rage Elfman had never seen before, his lips pulled tight in a beastly scowl, and he smashed him into the wall so hard that his shoulder popped. “So it was you! It’s _your_ fault that she’s going to die! You brought her here!”

“Laxus,” the knight behind them said. He lifted a hand from his sword and held it out to his companion, a soothing motion as though he were reining in a wild horse. “Stop. Put him down.”

“But-!”

“This is Mirajane’s brother. He’s not nearly so malicious enough to bring Evergreen into the hands of Ivan.”

Laxus. Was this _the_ Prince Laxus? Or was this another one? Laxus probably wasn’t a common name, and now Elfman saw the crest of the royal family on the clasps that held his cape, made from a very fine material, to his coat. This was the prince, and if what Mira had said about Ever was true, this was her master.

“Y-your Majesty,” he coughed. “Pl-please set me down.”

It was only with a faint touch from the knight to his back that Laxus dropped him, leaving him in a heap on the floor as he choked and rubbed at his collar bones. Not even a moment after dropping him was it that the prince crouched down to glare at Elfman with eyes that sparked like lightning.

“How’d you know her? What’s your relationship?”

It wasn’t prudent to lie to royalty. “I was dying. Got beat up by some bandits. She found me and healed me.” He paused for a moment and pressed his fingers to the cold ground. “We were friends.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“I visited her a lot. I saw her just a few days ago, besides from today.”

“Did you tell a soul about her?”

“No! My sister sent soldiers to follow me!”

Laxus slammed a fist against his knee. “Damn that Mirajane.”

Elfman narrowed his eyes. “She was trying to protect me. She was worried.”

“Like I care.” He stood up. His cape billowed around him and he looked to where Ever had been dragged off minutes before. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated, but answered when the knight at his side offered him a hand. “Elfman.”

“Elfman,” the prince muttered as he scratched at the back of his head. “I have an important question for you.”

His heart pounded- an impressive looking blade fit to slay a dragon hung at Laxus’ side, and he wondered if, _if_ Elfman gave the wrong answer to this important question, he would lose his head to it. “What is it?”

“Did you want this to happen to her?”

“No!” He shoved away from the knight and stepped to the prince with a hand to his chest. “Ever is my friend! We’ve looked after each other for almost six months. I’d take her place now if I could.”

“Elfman,” Laxus repeated, as though testing the name, seeing if it was trustworthy. “Do you know why Evergreen is in this situation?”

He flinched and leaned back to chew on the question. “They’re saying she murdered the High Priest and put Prince Ivan in a coma.”

“That’s what they say,” the knight mumbled.

“Don’t be sassy now, Freed,” Laxus warned. “We’ll tell him the truth, if what he says about how he feels about Ever is true.”

“Is that wise?” asked Freed. He side-eyed Elfman with more than a smidge of distrust. “He’s the brother of another High Knight, one who firmly believes that Evergreen is the murderer to boot.”

“Elfman.” Laxus ignored Freed, who scoffed. “Do you know what they’re doing with Ever?”

He stayed quiet for the umpteenth time during the conversation and looked away. “I was hoping they’d found her not guilty, but based on the way they dragged her out of there, she-”

“Is sentenced to be hung to death.”

Elfman froze. The floor suddenly switched with the wall and he wanted to fall over.

“They’re going to hang her in just over a week.”

Elfman shook his head and threw his hands out to plead. “But you’re the second prince of this country! Don’t you care about her? Can’t you change the sentence?”

“I care about Evergreen more than you do,” the prince warned. “Don’t suggest otherwise again.”

Freed cleared his throat. “Laxus has no such power to sway the verdict. He may be a prince, but this country’s justice system is founded on a vote. Once the jury has spoken, not even the king could do anything.”

“What if we changed their minds?” he pleaded desperately. “What was the vote like? Almost half-and-half? We could convince them that he’s innocent easily!”

The knight swept back his hair and refused to look at Elfman. “The vote was unanimous. Good luck convincing some 60 nobles and court members that they’re wrong.”

“How can they all think that Evergreen is guilty?” he asked. “Ever… Ever is a nice person! She took care of me. She saved my life. She wouldn’t _murder_ someone.”

Freed and Laxus looked at each other, something secretive and uncomfortable between them, as heavy as a mountain of bricks. The knight broke eye contact first and gave an uncomfortable cough while the prince scowled and looked to the ceiling.

“She wouldn’t murder someone. Right?”

“I don’t know what it was about you,” Laxus began, “but ‘nice’ isn’t quite how most people in this castle would describe her. Go on.” He lifted a hand to shoo Elfman away. “You could ask anyone. They’d tell you she was cold, cruel, and serious.”

“They’d be wrong, of course,” added Freed. “Terribly wrong. She just took her job as a knight to the prince very seriously.”

Elfman sputtered. “They thought she murdered a priest because she’s _serious_? Half the people in this damn castle would be suspects!”

“Elfman.” Laxus set a hand on his shoulder and steered him down the hall. “Come with me. We’ll tell you what really happened.”

* * *

 The cell that they prepared for Evergreen in was the furthest thing from the lap of luxury- not that she had been expecting that sort of thing anyway. And she was used to damp gray walls, floors with frayed rugs, gaggles of people lurking in the shadows, and bars on the windows. She’d grown up in squalor, after all. Compared to some places she’d found to sleep as a child, this was a royal suite.

“Get in there,” her escort gruffed. “And be quiet.”

He was not very polite in shoving her inside. She landed on the ground, still in her handcuffs, and could not throw out her hands to brace her fall. Her cheek hit the ground painfully and she hoped that the crack she heard was nothing more than a very tired figment of her imagination. Nobody else in the cell helped her get up. Her shirt was still damp from her rude wake up call before the trial and she laid on the ground, gritting her teeth and fighting back the impulse to throw herself against the bars like an animal, especially as a few chose to have a good laugh at her condition.

“Hey, hey, look! The high-and-mighty Evergreen, finally where she belongs!”

“‘s pretty funny. See, bitch, this is what you get for being scum.”

“All those times you acted so superior for serving the prince, you’re getting your dues for it now!”

One of them spit at her and sent the rest into a riotous fit of laughter as they exited the dungeons. They sounded like hyenas, horrible, loathsome hyenas with their teeth bared to rip out her throat. How horrible. If she was remembering right, she’d never done anything particularly cruel to anyone in the castle, except for the criminals she rounded up and threw in the prison. Sure, she was standoffish, but it wasn’t her job to be fluffy and friendly. It was to be a knight. It was to protect Laxus. To hell with what everyone else thought of her.

“Hey, you.” A very thin hand reached down and yanked her up by the cuffs, and she gasped at the pain in her sliced up arm. A woman with a mane of red hair and sunken cheeks held her, staring at her blankly with startlingly purple eyes. Her lips turned up into a hollow smile. “I know you!”

Ever sniffed and looked down up her nose at her. The rest of the inmates, another two women, watched with curious faces. “Do you? I admit, you also look familiar.”

“Oh yes, yes.” The woman smiled a little bit more before releasing Evergreen, her eyes tracing up and down her body. “You threw me in here, remember. Six months ago. I hear I was your last catch before you went down the wrong road, little miss.”

Evergreen remembered now, and her stomach lurched. Cornelia Flint- a woman wanted for the murder of her husband and children. Laxus himself had assigned her the case, knowing she would take it with a grain of salt, and she did.  She had wanted to believe that the woman hadn’t murdered anyone, but then she’d walked in on Cornelia sawing off the head of an innocent town butcher while he screamed and bled to death, though the pain and shock was what had ultimately killed him.

Right. Ever hadn’t eaten for three days after that.

“You murdered your husband and three children,” Ever stated. “And you were decapitating a man slowly and painfully when I found you. This is the best place for people like you.”

The inmate raised a hand and Ever thought that she would lash out to strike her. She looked away and offered her bruising cheek with tight shoulders and a clenched jaw, but the hand rested gently on her face instead, rubbing it kindly. When Ever looked back, the look was empathetic and pitying.

“This is the best place for people like _us_ , you mean.”

* * *

 “Let me get this straight.” Elfman threw out his hands, keeping them parallel to one another. The light in the infirmary room was soft, but still hurt his head after the mass of information he’d just absorbed. “Your father, the crown prince Ivan, murdered the priest.”

Laxus nodded while he poured a glass of water and handed it to Bickslow, who had only just found the strength to sit up and participate in the conversation.

Elfman started again. “Your father, Ivan, murdered Fiore’s High Priest and gave himself some sort of drug to put himself in a coma for almost six months.”

“Yes,” Freed grumbled. He seemed to be having a headache of his own, based on the way he was massaging his temples.

“Ivan murdered the priest with an ax that looked like Ever’s and left her in the room to be found with the priest’s blood all over her.”

“Bingo,” muttered Bickslow.

“And Ivan wants to do this to get to you, his son.” Elfman gestured to Laxus, who grimaced and looked away. “Because you two are in a competition for who gets to rule the country when the king passed away? So Crown Prince Ivan is a corrupt, greasy, unmanly idiot who thought that offing one of your guards would get you to back down?”

The prince placed his hands behind his back and paced towards the window, where gauzy white curtains were ruffling in the midnight breeze. He held them back to peer out at the moon. “I think he was partially hoping that the experience might even make me go mad. He wasn’t expecting me to help her escape, I don’t believe. He thought that me seeing her executed would do the trick.”

Elfman shook his head and crossed his arms. “I know there are rumors of Prince Ivan being a bad man, but I can’t believe-”

“Prince Ivan has abused the country’s treasury, murdered countless people to get his way, disrespected women in the most horrendous of ways, and is a corrupt, terrible man,” Freed spat. He’d remained quiet for most of the time, but now he was squeezing his hands behind his back and scowling at the floor. “I’ve known him for years, and never once have I seen him be kind. He’s unfit to lead this country. Laxus must rule in the wake of his grandfather.”

Bickslow licked his lips free from water droplets. “And he’s always been tormenting Evergreen, because she’s the only girl Laxus has ever gotten close to.” A grin warped his face and he folded his arms, looking triumphant. “There was this one time where he grabbed her ass and almost lost his hand. I swear, she almost cut it clean off. Never seen anyone move that fast, but Gray stopped her, unfortunately. Ivan only got away with a sprain, and I don’t think he’s ever forgotten it.”

Elfman sighed and looked to the floor. His head spun and he felt faint. The morning felt like it was eons ago, and he felt he had aged just the same. Evergreen, the angel in the forest, was a knight of a prince, a supposed murderer, and not at all whom he had believed her to be. She was starting to feel like a hallucination, a bitter daydream, and he wondered if any part of her that he knew was real.

“There is no lack of hope.”

The other three men in the room turned to look at Laxus. His hands clenched behind his back until they were white. The moonlight bathed his skin silver and he stared out into the gardens outside. “We aren’t without hope. There’s still a week left. Nine days to be exact, at noon. I’m not here to give up.” His eyes flickered to the others. “Are you?”

A silence settled over them briefly, until Bickslow spoke up. “I ain’t givin’ up until I see her body hanging from the rope. There’ll be no sleep for me until I free her.”

“I haven’t given up on her before, no matter how hopeless she seemed.” Freed sighed and then smiled. “I shall not rest either.”

“Elfman.”

He jumped enough that his head nearly hit the ceiling, but he righted himself quickly. “Y-yes?”

“You have no obligation to this,” Laxus told him, turning away from the window. “You’re the brother of a High Knight. If you were to get tangled up in these affairs, you could slander your and your sisters’ names. More to the point, you have barely any connections with Evergreen.”

Slander his name. More importantly, slander Mira and Lisanna’s names. It was unthinkable. He could ruin everything for his family. No one would look at his sisters the same way. It seemed like a very impossible decision.

But he thought of Evergreen, chained, bleeding, soaked, and looking at him desperately as she was dragged away to her fate, and his heart ripped. It wasn’t really an impossible decision.

“If I didn’t help, I don’t think I would be able to live with myself.”

The prince huffed and looked at the wall. “Then get to work.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happened in a flash- she was up in an instant, slamming herself against the bars of her cage. One hand wrapped around the bars where his own hand had been, and the other strained between, reaching out towards him. She was so fast, he was reminded of the first time he met her, when she held the cooking knife to his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there wasn't a chapter last week i was just. so tired. and blugh. also let's call this chapter Elfman Makes A Big Mistake

The guard had told him, in a very rough and angry voice, to take a right and go down the stairs and then take another right and take a left and then go up a flight of stairs. To make it worse, he’d said it all in a single breath and left Bickslow to flounder around in the dim lighting, trying to ignore the stench of the prisoners and to not to trip over every loose stone.

Gee, that guard was great. A real helpful pal.

“I swear to God that I-” A string of expletives escaped his mouth as he stumbled over nothing for the umpteenth time, and then a light voice, oddly calm for her situation, called out, “Bickslow? Over here.”

So he had gone in the right direction. How encouraging. He took a turn and finally found the cell, illuminated horribly with only a dim lantern in the corner. Evergreen looked up at him from her position on the ground- they’d removed her cuffs and she was sitting as comfortably as possible against the wall. Her clothes were wrinkled, her skirt was banged up, and there were bags under her eyes. Man, if he could see those bags in such dim light, they had to be bad.

“Beautiful princess,” he greeted as he lowered himself to his haunches. “You put everyone else here shame.”

“You flatter me,” she replied flatly. She had no interest in looking at him- only at the flickering lantern. “What’s going on?”

“It’s been two days, if you haven’t been able to keep track,” he told her. He rubbed his hands together, wringing and twisting them around, and looked at the ceiling. It was growing a gross amount of mold. Ever hated mold. “We’re doing our best. Ivan is gloating and trying to look as pitiful as possible in his wheelchair.”

“Kick him over.”

“If only I could, kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you’re so little.”

She fell silent and picked at her sleeve. Bickslow wished that bringing clothes or something to prisoners was possible, but anything could be lurking in the hem of a shirt or the folds of a pair of pants. It was against policy, even for his rank.

“Why are you alone?” he asked. “I heard you were in group holding.”

“A guy tried to grab me,” she responded and put a hand on her chest. “I beat him over the head with a meal tray. They put me here and won’t let me out.”

He smiled. “Priceless.”

Quiet. Quiet. More quiet. She looked so pale, but so calm. Tired, yeah, that was probably the best way to describe her. Maybe a little sad. Bickslow was certain he looked like a nervous wreck. He hadn’t slept since they’d taken him to the infirmary a couple days before. He had nothing on Ivan, and he wouldn’t sleep until he had it.

“You can go,” she said. The words hung heavy in the air and he winced. “I know you hate it down here. You always ask me to bring your thugs to their cells.”

“You always do it,” he mumbled; she knew he hated the damp darkness, the sallow-faced guards, and the sunken cheeks of the prisoners. He hated when their bony fingers clutched at the hems of his cloaks and felt sick at the scent of vomit and piss. But Ever didn’t hate it. She didn’t think anything of it. She went in, she came out, and she did her job all the same.

“Have you given up yet?” she asked, and she finally looked at him. There was a bruise on her cheek that he noticed when the light hit it properly. “We know it’s hopeless. _I_ know it’s hopeless.”

A swell of anger started in his gut. “I won’t give up!” he shouted. “Why would you think otherwise? Freed and Laxus and I won’t rest until-”

“You see me gasping at the noose?” she murmured. “How admirable.”

“Ever-” He pressed against the bars of the prison, close enough that, if a guard was around, he would have beaten him away with the blunt end of his lance. “W-we’re gonna do it. We even got help. That buddy of yours, the big muscly guy? Mirajane’s brother? He’s helping us. Maybe with another set of hands-!”

“Elfman’s helping you?” Her eyes came to life and she twisted to look at him, her hands pressed to the ground. “What? He can’t! Don’t let him! Why is he still here?”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “He said he’s fine with it, so-”

“I-I don’t want him to know!” she stammered. “He doesn’t know! Don’t let him anywhere near the record hall.” Her eyes were watering- no, it was probably just the light glittering in her pupils. “Bickslow, please-” She inched forward and reached out through the bars to grab his shoulder. “I just want to die being in his good opinion.”

* * *

 The record hall was dank, musty, and Elfman didn’t like it. Everything below the first floor of the castle seemed to be dank and musty. The scent just about made him sick, but he was a man on a mission, and he wouldn’t let a little dust and gloom get to him. Ever needed him, and he needed something to take his mind off of the disappointed look Mirajane gave to him whenever they passed. She hadn’t spoken to him since their confrontation. It was just as well- he needed all his attention on his task.

Tall as he was, Elfman had to get a ladder to reach Ivan’s personal records- the medical ones and the professional ones were all at the front of the hall, along with everyone else’s, but to get the good stuff, the manager told him, you had to really dig deep and go up high. The files he was looking for spanned a good half a shelf, which sparked just a bit of hope in Elfman; if the files were so big, maybe there was some useful content within them.

As he descended a ladder, another file caught his attention. Just a single file, and rather thin at that, but it had a name clipped to it and he couldn’t resist. He grabbed it and took it back to the front of the hall with him, back to where the light shone and the musty scent vanished. He spread them all out on a table and the manager, a tall young lady with tired eyes and a dark complexion, took her leave and pretended not to see him.

“I don’t like the crown prince,” she’d told him when he’d asked about the files. “Look at whatever you want. I couldn’t care less.”

The records spread out across the table- his head ached just looking at them. He’d always hated studying. Reading for pleasure was fine, but studying paperwork, looking at files, it had always made him irrationally irritable. But, then again, this was for Ever. Evergreen. He would look through every single stupid record in the whole castle for her, and then some.

He opened the first file, which was titled “Early Life.” Born 45 years ago, had a common childhood, showed promise in magic- and disturbing tendencies. When he was 8, he killed his pet rabbit. When he was 10, he brutalized a servant so badly that she had to be in the infirmary for a week. Showed no remorse towards either incident.

“Young Adult Life”: At 14, began to sneak out of the castle. Would come back drunk and create a big commotion. At 16, began to show aggression towards his father. At 19, he brutally slaughtered an entire enemy brigade with only magic and showed no remorse.

“Adulthood”: Married a peasant girl when he was 21, and was the only person he showed average human tendencies towards. Had first son less than a year later, and his wife died in the process. Shunned his child and showed an unhealthy obsession with his wife’s body and grave. At age 31, nearly beat his young son to death. Continued his old habits of sneaking out of the castle.

Elfman swallowed and flipped through the records, a sweat starting on his back. There was more. Much more than he wanted to see. Sexual assault, extreme violence, bouts of severe mental instability, but everything danced around the mention of murder. He was cruel, unstable, but, alas, the records told that Prince Ivan was not a murderer. Only a madman, and just that.

The sound of the wobbling paper echoed through the empty room. Elfman flipped the papers, but found that he’d reached the very final page, and he had nothing overtly incriminating to hold against the prince. He spent the next hour poring over them again and again, holding the papers close to his face as though it would help him to see something, anything, better, but it didn’t. They could bring up the slaughter of an entire brigade, but Elfman knew from the stories that most people admired him for it. Their best chance would be to mention that he’d nearly beaten Laxus to death when the boy was barely nine, but it wouldn’t do much good. Despicable as it was, child abuse wasn’t the equivalent to murder.

He pulled his fingers through his hair until it hurt. Five more days. He gripped the edge of the table in his hands. Only five, and then they’d put the noose around her neck and-

The edge of the table fractured and fell apart as he gripped it too hard. The empty sound brought the record-keeper out of her office and she stared around her domain, bewildered. Elfman’s cheeks flushed and he dropped the scraps of wood onto the floor and swept them away with his feet. Out of sight, out of mind.

Five days. He had five days to save Ever. Evergreen. Her whole name was Evergreen, but she didn’t have a last name. Just like the tree. The tree that stood strong throughout the whole year, through the coldest of winters, and never lost its foliage. It was a pretty name, and he’d thought it a bit bland at first, but the more he ran it through his mind, the better it sounded. It suited her, made her seem bigger than she was.

Carefully, he rearranged the files as he had found them, ensuring that the workers wouldn’t have more work than they needed. He felt sick even holding the records, but shook his head and cleared his dizziness and nausea. He forgot exactly where he’d gotten the files, so he’d leave them there for the record keeper. As he set stacked them up and set them on the table, as neatly as possible, his hand brushed against the file he’d picked up. It was so thin, only a few sparse pages, and had just a name on it.

Elfman swallowed and picked it up with trembling hands. Mirajane’s words hung over him hauntingly _(She’s dangerous, and her records prove it),_ and he knew he shouldn't open it. It wasn’t his business. He was focusing on Ivan, not on Evergreen, and he wanted to know the real her by himself- not by some scraps of paper.

But he was curious, maybe dangerously so. Maybe she would never tell him anything about herself. Maybe this was his only chance. He weighed the possibility in his mind, and was filled with an overwhelming guilt as he flipped open the page to the file.

His stomach sank.

* * *

 The guard who led Elfman was very quiet and not sociable at all. He had agreed to take him to Evergreen’s cell, however, and for that he was grateful to him. When he had come a few hours before, the other guard has instantly refused to lead him, or even tell him where the cell was, and had glared at him with suspicion and distrust.

“Thank you,” Elfman said when the guard finally stopped at the end of a hallway and pointed him the rest of the way.

“It’s not a problem. I’ll come back if I hear something unusual,” he responded. “Some of my peers are iffy about letting anyone see her, but it’s not a problem with me.” He pressed his lips and looked at the ground for a moment. “Poor kid. This is messed up.”

The knight slipped back down the hall as quietly as he had come. Elfman took a deep breath, his heart threatening to crush straight through his chest, and started his descent down the stairs. His hands clutched the file tightly and he desperately tried to think what he’d say. Last time he’d spoken to her was before her trial, before he knew she was… whatever she was. What if she’d changed into a completely different person? What if she recoiled when he asked her about the file?

She was asleep in the corner of the cell when he got there. A wad of blankets had been crumpled together to form a makeshift pillow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself to keep her warmth close, and she still had on the bloodstained shirt and ruined skirt on . He couldn’t see any other part of her in the dark, but he imagined her hair was messed around her face like it always was when she was sleeping, like some untamable tree.

For a good three minutes, he remained so quiet that he could hear her breathing and every drip of water fall from the ceiling. There was a considerable pool of water that had collected in the corner of the hallway, and it was only after he counted another fifteen drips that he summoned the courage to clear his throat and knock against the rock wall.

“Who’s there?” She responded so impossibly quickly to the noise, jumping straight awake, that Elfman wondered if she had ever been asleep at all. “I’m not afraid.”

His lips quivered and he took a deep breath. His blood was roaring in his ears. “I-it’s just… me.”

Her shape sat up and inched forward enough that the light from the lamps outside shone on her face, leaving half of it illuminated. A shiny green and purple bruise was in full bloom on her visible cheek. It made him sick.

She tilted her head and blinked. “Elfman.”

He held the file closer. It was as heavy as a brick in his weak hands. “Yeah.”

She stayed quiet for a minute, and he imagined she was thinking. He didn’t press her. “Why are you here?”

“Pr-prince Laxus and your squad members told me. A-about everything.” He looked away and felt a nervous sweat begin to start. “I’m trying to help.”

Her hands pressed against the ground and she glared up at him. She looked so very pale. “There’s no point. No one will hold my innocence above the word of the country’s crown prince. That’s simply the way it is when you’re a royal servant.”

Elfman took a deep breath. He wanted to rip the papers in little pieces. The lamp seemed to light up, as though flaring with his emotions, and he finally mustered up his courage. “But you just being a royal servant isn’t the only reason they won’t believe you, is it?”

She stayed still, but looked over at him again. Her hair shone in the flame’s light, glistening with a thin sheen of grime after being deprived of water or soap for three days. Bags hung heavy under her eyes, and she looked like a starving wolf.

“I found this,” he told her. His voice was getting stronger. He held out the file for her to see, and when she leaned closer to look, she recoiled as though he was holding out a poisonous plant.

“Y-you-” she was stuttering in a way he’d never heard before. Ever had always sounded so sure and peaceful, but Evergreen sounded frightened, small, and heavy with anxiety to the point where he pitied her.

Instead of guilt, anger was now flaring in him. He opened the file so ferociously that the bind ripped and began to read from it. “Evergreen, age 21, personal knight to the second prince of Fiore, Laxus.”

“Stop.”

He kept going. “Grew up in the slums of the southern kingdom. Taken in by the prince at the young age of 12 and brought to the castle to train in the honorable ways of the knight.”

Evergreen was shaking now, like the flame of the lanterns. Her hands slipped up to her head and she buried them against her ears. Her eyes were focused on something across from her in the cell, wide and terrified. “Stop. Please.”

He read the next line in his head before aloud, and threw the records against the bars of her cell in a sudden fit of what emotion, he didn’t know- Anger? No, it was something softer, but deeper than that. She flinched and held her head tighter. “Early crimes include prostitution, vandalising, burglary, and murder.”

“I said. Stop!” she screamed.

The whole world seemed to go silent. Evergreen was always losing her temper, always raising her voice a bit to express her frustrations, but this was different. It was rage and sadness and fear, all combined into something he’d never heard before, and it shook Elfman down to his very bones. A sinking feeling settled over him and fell into the marrow of his bones. The file sat open at his feet, the words looming up at him, a testament to what he had done.

“You don’t know what it’s like there,” she said. It was so quiet, as though all her voice had gone into her shout.  “It’s so dark… There are so many people. You don’t know. They make you do things. Bad adults, who make you kill for scraps of meat and sell your bodies for handfuls of coins.”

“So you killed people to feed yourself?” he asked. Disgust was roiling in his stomach.

“There was a man,” she burst out suddenly. “I told you before, there’s always a man!” She twisted to look back at her makeshift bed. “He told me to kill, and I did it. That was all. He was so terrible… He made so many of us kill. His own army of playthings.”

“You killed-”

“15 people.” Her voice was stiff. “I was the best at it. If I did it right, the younger kids wouldn’t have to do it. So I did.”

Bile rose in his throat. “So what-”

“Laxus came one day,” she told the wall. “I remember. He came in, all princely and handsome. He had such light in his eyes when he cut down the master. I was supposed to kill him. I didn’t. When I tried, he forgave me. He took me back to his home and fed me.” Her shoulders hunched over. “He made the meal himself. It tasted awful.”

Elfman crouched down, sliding his hands over the bars. They were cold and rust came off on his palms. “That’s why no one believes you.”

“It’s hard to trust a child soldier. Someone who’s been assassinating since they could remember,” she spat. “I was Ivan’s optimal target. Everyone else here is so _clean_. They don’t have nearly as much blood on their hands as I do.”

It felt like too much. A child soldier? Assassin? A knight to the country’s second prince? Did Elfman even know her at all? It felt like she was drifting further away every single second, and it made his head pound and his chest ache. He’d felt so sure of who she was, back when it was just him and her, but now-

“Did you do it?”

She looked up at him. “What?”

His mouth felt dry. “Did you kill the priest?”

She stared, confused, looking as though she could not, or maybe would not, comprehend what he was saying.

“You’ve murdered before,” he said quietly and looked away. “I was told that Ivan constantly torments you. If that really was the case, then maybe the priest was just caught in the crossfire, and-”

It happened in a flash- she was up in an instant, slamming herself against the bars of her cage. One hand wrapped around the bars where his own hand had been, and the other strained between, reaching out towards him. She was so fast, he was reminded of the first time he met her, when she held the cooking knife to his neck.

Elfman stumbled back, shaken at the suddenness of her movements. Her hand was outstretched towards him, so much so that her he could pick out the veins in her palm. Her fingers shook, and he could not tell if she was straining to hurt him, or if she was reaching towards him. Her nails scratched against the fabric of his pants, and she glared up at him.

Her mouth was stretched tight, her teeth bared, and she looked as ferocious as a wild dog. Her hair curled around her face, but he could clearly see a look on her face; something agonized, angry, and too delicate for words. Her eyes were desperately sad, shimmering with almost-tears, and he had a hard time pegging what she was feeling. He thought he’d known her so well. A simple herbalist.

“You’re like the rest of them,” she whispered. Her eyes turned to the ground, then flew back up and stared him right in his. “You’re just like the rest! Always looking, mocking, never understanding! No matter what I do, how many people I help, no matter how many I put away in the name of this goddamned kingdom, I’m just my past. A filthy little girl with blood on her skirt!”

Elfman inched backwards. Her hand flew back into her prison and gripped a bar, the same as her other. His heart was hammering. He could all but hear it, even with her labored breathing echoing through the corridor. Was it sweat on her face, or tears?

“I-I-”

“I thought finally, maybe, I’d found someone else besides who I already had to trust and love, but I was wrong.” Her voice was bitter. She glared up at him from the ground, shedding her helpless look, and what was on her face wasn’t anger or spite, but merely a deep betrayal. “You’re like the rest of them.”

A thing inside of him snapped. He rushed back towards the prison, pressing against it. “No, I-”

“Get out!” she yelled. She curled a fist and smashed it against his knee. “If you don’t trust in me, then leave!”

A thick clanking of armor interrupted his silence. The guard appeared at the distant end of the hallway, his lance clutched tight in his hand. “Is everything alright?”

“He’s ready to go, sir,” she called down the hallway. Her head still hung towards the cold stone ground. “Please escort him out, if you would. Thank you for bringing him.”

What felt like too short of a moment later, the guard was next to him and had a hand on his shoulder. The dripping of the water echoed through the dungeon once more. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am. So this knight was one of her sympathizers.

“Sir, please.” The guard tugged on his shoulder. “I think she’d like to be left alone. Besides, you may get in trouble if the crown prince finds out you were here.”

“Ever-” Elfman pulled away, reaching to the bars one last time.

“I would like to be left alone,” she agreed. She drew herself up and stood on her feet, brushing her hands against her skirt. “Take him now, please.”

Only when she turned her back to him did Elfman let the guard pull him away and back down the hall.

* * *

 Elfman’s fist created a sizable dent in the wall of his guest room. The conversation in the room next to his stopped abruptly, and only picked up after another few seconds of waiting.

He’d thrown up almost immediately after reaching his quarters. It had come on suddenly, a slimy feeling that had been lurking since he’d first opened up the file and saw the words “assassin, prostitute, child soldier,” and a slew of other terrible details. His head hurt and his eyes were streaming, and he didn’t think it was from being sick.

Ever had looked at him with such betrayal that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive himself. She’d trusted him. She may have even cared for him to something bordering a love, and he’d flatout accused her of possibly lying to everyone she cared about. There had even been tears in her eyes, and the thought of her even becoming sad enough for them to develop made him dizzy.

He’d done something so terribly wrong that it was a sin. A very unforgivable sin. He wasn’t ever going to forgive himself, and he wasn’t ever going to feel the same way ever again.

She was innocent. No one was so good an actor as to put on such a betrayed face or use such a convicted voice. The pain that came off of her was much too real, and he felt that it had become his own.

He leaned against a wall and pressed a towel against his face, mopping up the moisture. Maybe she wasn't who he thought she was. She wasn't an herbalist. She wasn't an angel, or a goddess, or anything of the daydream he’d had, but still. Still. He loved her. Her smile. Eyes. The way she moved and talked and breathed. Desperately, he loved her.

He was going to prove her innocence. Give her justice. And then, despite it all, he would step out of her life forever, and give her the peace she deserved. He owed Evergreen at least that much.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was what she deserved. This was fate baring its fangs at her, a toothy grin, pleased that she was finally getting what she deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how bout those regular updates huh???  
> IM SORRY MY SUMMER WAS REALLY BUSY!!! i graduated from high school and then got a job and i just started college on Monday and im dying. in any case, the story is coming to a close! i'd give it another two chapters, three tops, probably. please continue to support it until the end! comments and kudos are always appreciated.

When Elfman woke up, he felt a bit hollow, like he was already being prepped for the emptiness that was sure to cling to him for the rest of his life.

He sat up in the guest bed, ran his hands over his face slowly, and then turned to look at the calendar hanging on the wall. He stared blankly at the date, circled urgently with ink, and then down at his hands. There were nicks and little cuts from poring over papers and flipping through them, bruises on the knuckles where he had knocked on door after door. He’d kept up the work for five straight days, and his body was practically screaming, begging him last night for rest, and, with a numb feeling and sense of impending doom, he’d given in.

By sunset, Evergreen was going to be cold.

When he dressed himself, he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, accidentally doing them all wrong, and his hands shook with frustration as he redid them. His armor refused to clasp together and he nearly ripped the leather before he took control of his temper again. His feet felt numb, making it hard for him to slide his boots on, and he was certain he looked like a mess as he opened the door and stepped into the hall, but he relished it. Let everyone see how miserable he was. Let everyone see how broken the death of an accused murderer made him feel.

Mirajane was leaving her room across the hall at the same time, and she blinked at him. There was something on her lips, he could tell from the way they pressed together and how she stood a little taller, but he turned from her and plodded down the hall with nothing for her but a scowl and a cold shoulder. Maybe it wasn’t going to be forever, but he intended to keep silent with her for as long as he could. It was childish, perhaps, but he hadn’t been feeling particularly manly in over a week.

Just desperate.

The castle seemed sullen as he walked through it. Maids kept their heads low as they carried linens through the halls, knights whispered nervously to one another with their fingers pressed nervously at their sides. A few dared to look at him as he passed, and they turned and continued to talk.

“They say he’s been working nonstop to prove she’s not a killer.”

“Eh? Really? Even after he found out-?”

“Shh! Don’t be insensitive. The prince may be about as well!”

Laxus had thrown a table last night, Elfman remembered, and it had crashed against the wall, spilling ink and papers and all manner of things, and he’d looked ready to weep. Bickslow did not prove to be as strong and had cried for at least an hour before his master lost it. Freed had been bedridden all day, broken down with stress and anxiety to the point where he’d simply ceased to function.

Elfman knew that he wasn’t going to be the only empty one by tomorrow.

A pair of a maid and a steward walked past him, talking excitedly, and Elfman stopped to listen briefly:

“Did you know that her mount has been having a fit since last night?” the maid asked.

The steward paused in his tracks, leaning over to pick up something she’d dropped. “That beast? I’m not surprised. It’s an unruly thing- always reminded me of her, you know.”

“What mount?” The words came out of his mouth before he even processed speaking, and the two jumped and looked up at him. 

The maid seemed to recognize him and she went white. “O-oh! You’re Lady Mirajane’s brother! The one who’s been…”

“What mount?” Elfman asked again. “I’m good with beasts- wyverns and the like. I-I can try to help.”

The two looked at each other, a nervous glance moving between them, and she spoke again. “In the southern stables, sir. M-Miss Evergreen’s mount, you see, she’s been having the most horrible tantrum. She wounded one of the younger wyverns last night in the northern stables and had to be tied up in the southern ones.”

“The southern ones are empty. Older facilities,” the steward added. “That beast, I almost feel bad for it. Do you think it knows its master is dying?”

The maid hissed a warning to him, slapping a hand against his arm when the color drained from Elfman’s face. He felt it go- it pooled down in his gut, a warm, terrible feeling. He had the briefest urge to punch the other man in the face for speaking so insensitively, but a deep breath brought him back to his senses and he turned his back to them.

“If I go this way, will I get to the stables?” he asked.

“Yes. Please be careful, though- the creature is beside itself, sir,” the maid told him. “Ask anyone if you get lost- don’t be a stranger!”

With that, she took her companion by the arm and dragged him away, scolding him under her breath, and Elfman watched them until they disappeared up the stairs. The word “dying” repeated in his head, over and over and over, so much that he didn’t hear Natsu’s attempts at a good morning or Lucy inquiring about Lisanna. Dying was such a cold word, he realized, and he’d never thought so until that moment.

The outside was lovely, and the breeze frisked the word away from his mind. The sky was pale blue, the grass was barely chill, and it was much warmer than it had been the past month. The loveliness was mocking him, Elfman decided, and he didn’t linger on how pleasant the wind felt, or how this was likely to be the last warm day of the year. He only felt annoyance that the weather had decided to be so damn pleasant when Evergreen was going to be hung.

A boy, dressed like a stablehand, hurrying past with a bloody arm in his other hand indicated that he was going the right way. Elfman watched him go, looked at the small drips of blood that followed, and felt something akin to terror. He’d never been afraid of beasts before, but then again, he’d rarely dealt with one so worked up.

He put a hand to his neck and hoped he would keep his head.

A piercing screech echoed through the air as he turned a corner, and the first thing he saw was the glint of gold. Long, pristine wings beat through the air and the beast reared back on its hind legs, pulling against a chain that kept it connected to the stables. It snapped at the air and screeched again, and Elfman recognized the sound.

It was agony.

“Easy! Easy! Bickslow, step back before she shreds you!”

What Elfman recognized next was that Evergreen’s mount was a griffon. A shudder raced up his spine as he recalled his only experience with one, when an enemy soldier had ridden one into a fight and had ripped a man’s arm to ribbons with just one move of its foot. They were untamable creatures and respected almost no one, not even their own kind. They were fiercer than wyverns, had worse tempers, and their beaks were just as deadly as a set of a dragon’s teeth. He recalled reading that, if they were ever tamed, they were loyal creatures and were nothing but gentle with their masters.

The griffon lowered itself back on the ground and folded its wings back up. It made a few clucking sounds and screeched again, and when it pulled on the chain over and over, it was more pitiful than fierce. When Elfman stepped closer, he found nothing in the creature’s eye but pain, sorrow, much more than he had ever thought such a savage thing could feel.

“Elfman?” Laxus peered over the griffon at him, and there were bags under his eyes. Bickslow stood in front of the beast with his hands held out calmingly, and Freed hovered behind Laxus with his head turned down.

“Sir, I was just-”

“Don’t get too close,” the prince warned. “This thing doesn’t know you. She’ll bite, believe me.”

The griffon screeched again and beat its wings once, earning a startled yell from Laxus, but it slumped to the ground and cooed, sounding sad and defeated. Bickslow stepped forward and patted it on the head, muttering something soothing, but the beast didn’t respond. Elfman took a few steps closer until it acknowledged his presence, then chose to stop. Miserable as he was, he wasn’t looking to bleed out.

“This is Ever’s?” he breathed. The feathers on the griffon were an impossible gold, and the way they caught the light reminded him of the way the sun shone on Ever’s hair.

“She’s miserable,” Freed muttered. “She’s been miserable for months, but last night she lost it. Nearly tore up a poor wyvern while she was thrashing.”

“I take her on walks all the time,” Bickslow said. “But she just misses Ever.”

“Aren’t griffons rare? And hard to tame?” Elfman asked. “There aren’t even any high knights that can ride them.”

“Ever saved her from a poacher a little after I recruited her,” Laxus explained. “She let her go, but the stupid bird kept coming back. She would sit on the perch of her window boxes and stare at her all throughout the night. She’s never let anyone else ride her.”

“A griffon,” Elfman mumbled. “She rides a griffon.”

Tomorrow, it would be “she rode a griffon.”

Laxus frowned and ran his hand along the great bird until it screeched again. “Wanna guess what Ever named the thing?”

Elfman tore his eyes away from it and looked at the prince. “What?”

“And after it nearly tore a man in half,” Freed muttered.

“She named her Lovebird,” Laxus said, and a tiny smile crossed his face.

Despite himself, Elfman also smiled. “Lovebird?”

“After it nearly tore a man in half,” Freed repeated, exasperated. “I told her, she shouldn’t keep her, but she insisted.”

Evergreen had named her flying killing machine Lovebird, and it was just about the cutest thing he’d ever heard.

“Do you think she wants to go for a fly?” Bickslow asked. He reached out and the griffon pressed her beak against his palm. “Maybe that’ll help her calm down.”

“Maybe.” Freed turned to a pole next to him and fiddled with the chain on it. The griffon crooned and tilted her head, watching carefully. “Looks like she's calmed, so I’ll let her off the pole.”

Elfman took three very,  _ very _ long steps back.

Lovebird sat up and shook her feathers, clicking her beak and whirring her head about as Freed held the chain loose. She chirruped and lifted her head to the sky.

“What's she doing?” Elfman asked.

Laxus shrugged, glancing briefly to the castle. “The jail is almost right under us. She may know that Ever is nearby.”

The chain was passed to Bickslow, who gently guided the bird along as she kept clicking her beak and looking about. Elfman joined the other two once the bird was far enough away. Laxus leaned against the pole, while Freed sighed and rubbed at his temple.

“What else can we do?” Elfman asked, and the question hung heavy between them.

After an uncomfortably long, disheartening silence, the prince admitted, “I don't know.”

“We've gone over every record, talked to every person who could testify against Ivan, but there's just nothing incriminating enough to put the blame on him.” Freed’s mouth turned down into a long scowl. “Even if we did, half that jury would still rather side with the first prince instead of a slum-born girl.”

Elfman gritted his teeth and glared out at the field, where Bickslow was having an increasingly hard time guiding the great bird. If he wasn't feeling so heavy and miserable, he would've labeled the sight of the knight dragging his heels into the ground and pulling uselessly as amusing. “There isn't anyone close to Ivan in the castle? Anyone else?”

The look between Freed and Laxus didn't go unnoticed, and he waited with bated breath.

“My father’s retainers,” Laxus started, and a little feeling of hope swelled in Elfman until he continued. “But they vanished right after a brief investigation of the murder. Most people assume that Ever ‘had accomplices’ who offed them.”

“We never got along, so we were suspects briefly,” Freed continued. “But the case of two missing servants was deemed much less important than finding Evergreen and healing the prince.”

“They just disappeared?”

“We woke up one day, and they were gone,” Laxus affirmed. “Trail was completely cold. Even Natsu couldn't track them.”

“How?”

“One of them, Nalpudding- I think- is a pretty experienced mage.” Bickslow joined them, speaking as casually as he could with Lovebird thrashing at the end of her chains. “Ivan taught him himself. Erasing his and Kurohebi’s tracks and hiding them for this long is probably a breeze.”

Elfman scratched at the back of his neck. “You think they were in on it.”

“Definitely,” Laxus said. “And they're cowards, both of ‘em. If we threatened them enough, they'd squeal without a second thought to their master.”

“It's undoubtedly why they fled so soon,” Freed commented. “I know I personally wouldn't have any qualms bashing in their skulls.”

“Never liked ‘em,” Bickslow added. “Now, hey, Birdie, calm down!”

Elfman watched the griffon thrash more and more, back to her old hysterics as she screeched and pulled towards the town in the distance. “What's gonna happen to her when-” He swallowed, and a chill pierced him. He did his best to not imagine the noose.

“Griffons can't be trained to let anyone else ride them,” Laxus muttered. “Likely, she’ll be killed, and her meat will be dried and distributed to poorer areas of the kingdom.”

Lovebird screamed, and Laxus weakly called out, “Sorry!”

Bickslow and Freed were struggling to put the chains back around the pole. Elfman stepped forward to help them, but right before he put his hands on the leash, Lovebird shrieked, gave one strong beat of her wings, and the iron around her neck broke. The two fell against the ground hard as they lost all of the resistance; Laxus stepped in front of them with a hand on his sword as she took off into the air.

“Crazy bird,” Freed spat. “What is she-?”

Lovebird, rather than taking off for the sky, perched on a tree branch not far away. It sagged, almost comically, under her weight, and she watched them with a tilted head and an anxious squirm. Elfman froze as she fixed her eyes on him, and, if he didn't know any better, jerked her head the way of the town.

“She wants us to go somewhere,” he said.

Laxus rubbed the back of his head and stared at the bird while she skittered up and down the tree branch. “That sounds idiotic, but I think you're right.”

“Laxus?” Freed stood and beat his hands against his pants, expelling dust. “You can't go. Ever’s execution is in only a few hours. Don't you want to-”

“I’ll be back,” he told them. “You two go back to the castle. See what you can do to delay the processes.”

That little swell of hope came back to Elfman’s chest as the prince walked towards the mount. He followed, praying to whatever deity that would listen.

* * *

 

Water spilled over Evergreen’s head. She sputtered, but relished the feeling of the dirt and muck in her hair and on her skin, practically melting under the rush of the water. It was warm, scented with oils, and a few bubbles bounced along the surface as she sank deeper into the tub.

“Did any get into your eyes?” A maid leaned forward with a dripping basin in her hands. “I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

“I’ve never been bathed before,” was all she could say. Becoming clean was making her just a little happy; she couldn't bring herself to be mad at a little soap in her eyes. “I’ve only ever been the one giving baths! This feels really nice.”

A low, rumbling sound started in her chest and her eyes fluttered shut as the maid leaned over the tub and scrubbed her hair, her fingertips running through her curls and pulling out the kinks and grease with great care. Ever felt like a princess with each little tug on her hair and with the warm water softening her dirty skin. Being scrubbed down by a cute girl was vastly better than sitting in the jail cell with the mold and rats for company.

After a moment, she realized that the young lady was giggling, and she blinked open her eyes. The maid had a hand over her mouth. Ever tilted her head and ran a wet, soapy hand over her shoulder, washing away a particularly dirty spot, and asked, “Is something funny?”

“You’re purring like a cat,” the maid choked out. After another moment of composing herself, she took a sponge from a nearby table, spread bright purple soap over its surface, lathered it, and started scrubbing at Ever’s collarbones. “It’s funny.”

“Is it?”

“All the other workers always told me you were real scary,” she admitted. “But you seem kinda silly.”

“‘Silly.’” Ever rolled the term around her mouth and furrowed her brow. “I haven’t been described like that before.”

The maid dropped her eyes away from her. “Even though I thought you were a scary woman, miss, I never- I never thought-”

“You never thought I did it,” she finished. She took the sponge from the girl and stretched out a leg to get at her foot. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

Silence filled the space between them, broken only occasionally by the sound of stirring water and drops hitting the surface. The maid was a cute girl, Ever noticed, with rich brown hair, a round, plump face, and an adorable smattering of freckles over her cheeks. She recognized her suddenly, and tentatively broke the quiet. “You’re… Daisy, right?”

The worker blinked and finally looked back at Evergreen. There was a clear expression of shock on her face. “That’s me, yes.”

“I noticed you a few times, while you were working,” she continued. “I always wanted to ask you how you folded sheets- whenever I fold Laxus’, they always get all creased and wrinkly, no matter how I iron and press, but they always stay smooth and soft when you fold them.”

Daisy took the sponge back and ran it over Ever’s legs, still refusing eye contact. “Wh-why didn’t you? Ask, that is.”

She shrugged, sinking deep into the tub and sticking her leg out far. The water covered her mouth and she huffed, sending bubbles streaming through it. Her leg tingled with how hard the maid was scrubbing, but it was a good tingle, a good kind of pain. “I was scared.”

“Scared?” the girl echoed.

“I don’t get along with people well,” Ever admitted. “And all of you are so cute, I always got so nervous when I tried to talk to you.”

Daisy’s cheeks puffed out as she tried to hold back some sort of giggle. “A retainer of the prince, afraid of me?”

“Yes. And I suppose, since this is the last chance I’ll get: How do you fold those sheets, Miss Daisy?”

“Starch,” she revealed after a long moment. “But I mix it with a dry herb blend to keep the bugs away, since the starch attracts them.”

“Ingenious,” Evergreen said. “I’ll die filled with knowledge now.”

Again, quiet shook the room. It was heavier than the previous one, however, and it chilled Ever to the bone. It was obvious that she had also made the poor maid uncomfortable by talking so easily about her upcoming hanging, and she wanted to take her words back as soon as she saw the pink rush from Daisy’s face. She glanced at the frothy water and looked away as it really settled on her- this was her final bath, and she would have her final meal right after.

“I’m fine,” she told her in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Aren’t you scared?” the maid whispered. “Angry?”

Of course she was angry; being framed for murder and hung in public wasn’t necessarily the way Evergreen had seen herself going. As a child, she’d imagined slowly starving and rotting on some curbside. As a knight, dying in battle. Maybe an arrow to the heart, or something quicker, like a beheading. At least that would have been natural, honorable. Instead, she was going to suffocate because of some greasy old man who was paranoid and bitter.

But she wasn’t scared. She thought of Freed, Bickslow, Laxus- they’d all be there. And they’d all spent months on end searching for someway to prove that she hadn’t murdered the priest. They’d watched over her for years and years, teaching her how to do everything from hold a soup spoon properly and how to swing an ax. She remembered fondly when a wyvern had nearly shredded her back in a fight and how Freed had stayed awake for hours just to help her through the pain; when Bickslow had told her embarrassing stories about people in the castle to help her through nightmare-ridden nights; when Laxus had held her hand and insisted to the court that he be able to bring her into the castle, be able to feed her and teach her and let her protect him.

She also remembered humming her way through the summer forest, her eyes trying to pick out flowers among the dirt; she remembered even the tiny detail of that startled feeling when she almost tripped over a body. She remembered taking in the sight of a broken, bruised man, oozing blood and life, and that warm feeling in the very bottom of her gut when she realized he was still alive, that she could save him, do something right for once in her life. She remembered kind eyes the color of the springs in the castle gardens, warm brown skin torn with battle scars, an annoying repetition of a word.

Evergreen remembered the betrayed, angry look on his face in the prisons and let her eyes drift shut, wondering if he was still furious. She had hoped to die with his good opinion, with all of that silly fondness that he’d had for her intact, but she had piss-poor luck and didn’t deserve it besides.

But still, she wasn’t scared.

She had loved, for however brief the years were, and it gave her bravery.

* * *

 

The griffon would alight on the top of a house (much to the alarm of the civilians, Elfman noted), wait for Elfman and Laxus to get close, and then soar to the end of the street with a flap of her wings. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that the damn chicken was leading them on a chase, but the urgent way she chirped and clicked her beak said something earnest to him.

“Where do you think we’re going?” he asked Laxus as they turned another corner. They were headed to an upscale area of the town- he could tell by the flowers in the pots by the doors and the well-kept windows and bricks.

“No clue,” the prince admitted. “But I’m damn close to desperate.”

Lovebird finally descended to the ground, sending a group of people running, and her thin tail beat up dust on the ground as she whisked it about anxiously. Her claws clutched the dirt and turned it, and she squirmed and jerked her head to the door of a building while she chirruped and fluffed her feathers.

Elfman paused to catch his breath, placing a hand over his chest. His legs burned from trying to keep up with the griffon, and Laxus wasn’t in much better condition. His hands were on his knees as he slumped over and coughed, running the back of his hand over his mouth. People passing, dressed in fineries, skirted around them and looked at Lovebird with bewilderment and fear. After a solid minute, people stopped walking by all together. Word had likely gotten around, that a prince, a madman, and an overgrown lion-bird were cavorting on the main road.

“Where do you want us to go?” Laxus demanded of the griffon.

She shook her head out and clicked her beak together, jerking her head again at the door of a building. Elfman grumbled and shielded his eyes from the bright sun, glaring at the sign hanging above, and tilted his head to look over at Laxus.

“It’s a bar,” he said.

“I can read,” he snapped back.

He pressed his lips and frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. Rude. “Should we go in?”

Laxus took in the sight of the bar again, and Elfman did the same. It was a tall building, with glimmering gray stone lined on the bottom half of it. The perfectly polished sign read something in glinting, swooping golden letters that he didn’t care to read. Though noise came from inside, it was much, much quieter than most of the taverns he’d been to- likely a testament to its upscale clientele.

Elfman jumped back as the prince stepped forward to sweep open the door. It opened hard, banging against the inside, and all of the talking instantly stopped as the two of them walked in. The well-dressed men at the tables looked at them, their jaws dropped low mid-speech, and most of them managed nervous, uncertain bows as Laxus walked through the room.

He walked so slowly that it even made Elfman nervous. His shoulders were thrown back, his hand on the hilt of his heavy blade, and he looked coolly through the people staring. His boots sank calmly to the floor with every step, deliberate, harsh. The sound of the leather squelching sent a shiver up his spine, and he suddenly wished that he were like the second prince, that he was just exactly muscular enough, that he was handsome and in-control and proud.

“Any of you know Prince Ivan?” Laxus asked, calmly and casually.

They remained quiet as stone.

It stayed so quiet that Elfman could hear the roll of loose coins, dropped in the middle of a transaction, on the table. The sound when one fell to the ground was almost deafening to him. The room only seemed to get quieter, quieter, and quieter, until they heard a scree and a the scrabble of claws on cobblestone.

Lovebird lunged into the bar with her wings tucked to her sides so she could fit. Every patron yelped and lunged backwards in their chairs, drawing their legs up in terror. Elfman could imagine the horror they were feeling at seeing the sharp glint of her claws and the cruel curve of her beak, and he rushed forward to try and subdue the beast if need be.

There turned out to be no need, however. The griffon merely walked around the bar, flapped her wings enough to overturn a couple of tables, then finally knocked her beak on the ground, squawked, and then did it again and again until Laxus gingerly knelt down next to her. Many of the bar’s guests were evacuating, rushing past Elfman, and he stepped aside to make enough room for their frantic fleeing.

“What in the seven hells is she doing?” he snapped.

Laxus pursed his lips and rubbed his jaw. “You don’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The prince put his finger in the air while still staring intently at the floor. Elfan clamped his mouth shut and huffed, then knelt down on the other side of the mount. She knocked her beak oncemore, chirruped, then scratched her claws against the wood. She set her head against the floor and stared at him from that position, and, if Elfman didn’t know any better, he would say that the look in her eyes was almost pleading.

She hit her beak against the floor again, and then he heard it.

The sound was hollow.

The  _ floor  _ was hollow.

He was just a step behind Laxus. His hand landed squarely atop of his as they both reached for some hold in the floor, something to grab onto, and he finally found purchase in a loose floorboard, which he ripped up with desperation. It revealed a rope handle; Laxus grabbed it and stood up so fast that it nearly ripped the floor- or was it a door?- off of its hinges.

Lovebird squealed as a stray chip of wood hit her in the face, Laxus glowered down into the newly found pit, and Elfman stared at the strangest looking men he had ever had the mispleasure of seeing.

One of them was scrawny, pale as ice, with a messy bush of black hair on top of his head. He blinked with bright yellow eyes at the people above him, and Elfman grimaced and felt his stomach lurch when his forked tongue flickered out of his mouth. The other man was significantly shorter and fatter, with bright purple skin and a bulging chin. What truly caught his eye about him, however, was the gleam of something shining on a chain around his neck.

Laxus reacted right away, reaching down into the hidden basement to pull the both of them out. The skinny man hissed and lashed out, his claws catching on the heavy leather of the prince’s coat, and the fat companion writhed as Elfman reached out and yanked the chain from his neck. Lovebird screeched and nipped at their heels, her feathers ruffled and her eyes wide with rage.

“Kurohebi,” the prince said. He nodded curtly to the first man. He turned to the barely-human one next. “Nalpudding. How good to see you two. Looks like Evergreen’s mount was able to smell your rotten stench from the stables.”

“Y-Your Most Royal Majesty!” the purple one squealed. His lumpy hands twisted together as he dangled helplessly from the prince’s iron grip. “What a pleasant su-surprise!”

While Laxus began a scathing interrogation of the two men, both of whom Elfman assumed to be Ivan’s missing retainers (really, how many Kurohebis and Nalpuddings could there be?), he turned the chain around in his hands. A ring hung from it, silver with an opal in middle, and he frowned as he found an imprint on the very top of the gem.

“Laxus.” He shook the prince’s shoulder. “Laxus!”

“Gods, Elfman, shut up for a minute!”

“Look at this,” he insisted.

Laxus bit his tongue and stopped shaking Ivan’s retainers around just long enough to stare at the ring. His brow furrowed with confusion, then a harder concentration, and then his face paled and he looked shaken. “Is that what I think it is?”

Elfman swallowed hard, his stomach lurching with excitement, and he marvelled at the ring in his hand. The imprint on the gem was that belonging to the high priest of Fiore, one that was so sacred that anyone else wearing it was considered treason.

“Now, you know that having this in your possession is illegal,” Laxus began slowly. Nalpudding looked like he was sweating buckets, and Kurohebi kicked his legs and continued to lash out uselessly. “Especially considering you stole it from a dead man. However, if you were to tell us everything about what Ivan schemed regarding my retainer, I’d be willing to forget that my friend here and I ever saw it.”

Nalpudding blanched, his skin going from a vibrant purple to something more resembling a lilac, and he steeled his face. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ against the master! I’d rather die.”

Lovebird scraped her claws against the wood and screamed while Elfman scowled and fingered one of the knives on his belt. Laxus tightened his grip around Nalpudding’s rotund neck until he choked and scraped at the air, and Elfman watched in satisfaction. It was unusual- he had never taken delight in someone else’s suffering before, but he had no sympathy for anyone who had helped Ivan. This was practically Christmas for him.

“You tell me now, boys, that it was Prince Ivan who framed Evergreen! I need to hear you say it.”

“Not-not on your-!” Nalpudding gargled as his throat was crushed further. “-your worthless life, princeling!”

“I’ll feed you both to Lovebird,” Elfman cut in. The two prisoners looked horrified at the prospect, but a wide grin split Laxus’ face. “I hear griffons love their meat so fresh that it’s still screaming.”

“Do it,” Nalpudding dared. “I won’t ever b-betray my master!”

Lovebird looked like she was salivating as Laxus turned right around and brandished them in front of her. Elfman concluded that if someone swung two juicy steaks around in front of him, he’d have a very similar look on his face.

The scrawny one paled and yipped as the beast nipped at his toes, and he finally screamed, “Stop! Stop!”

And stop the world did as Kurohebi weakly held his fists out like a shield and spilled everything.

* * *

 

Evergreen got to eat a delicious bowl of white lamb stew, freshly-baked bread, and a variety of sauteed vegetables, all topped off with a very lovely glass of sparkling juice; it might’ve been her last meal, but they still weren’t eager to waste their best wine on her, but that was just fine. It might’ve made her puke, and she had no desire to vomit while the entire court watched as they slung the noose over her throat.

After that, they threw- threw!- her into a room no bigger than her armspan with a simple white dress, frayed at the edges and stained along the front, sitting on a bench. She sighed and slipped out of her filthy shirt and skirt, still wet and bloody and disgusting from her time in the cell, and shivered at the drafty air coming through the bars of the cell. She could tell the guards were staring at her, sneering at the way her muscles looked so floppy and untrained, her ribs jutting out of her stomach after weeks of eating only old bread, but she ignored it and slid the dress over her head. It touched her calves and made her feel no more clothed than she had naked.

She waited for two hours, twiddling her thumbs and staring blankly at the outside beyond the bars, until she heard the clink-clang of armor as her guards saluted someone. Ever sighed, slapped her hands along the back of her dress as she stood, and waited to see who her ferryman to her death would be.

A proud woman dismissed the guards, stood tall and regal in a way Evergreen could have only ever fantasized being. Her armor was glittering, made from the highest quality ore the kingdom could offer, and a broadsword hung, dangerous even in its sheathe, at her waist. She stared down at Evergreen from the freedom outside the bars, her scarlet hair catching the flickering light of the hallway.

“Well well, it’s not often they send a high knight to escort trash to their ends,” she mused.

Erza’s lip twitched, but her eyes remained hard and professional. “I requested it.”

“Do you hate me so much, Miss Erza, that you want to be my escort to death’s door?” Ever traced a finger over the cold, biting edge of one of the bars, watching for any change in Erza’s expression. “It’s okay. I always knew you didn’t like me.”

“It’s terrible of you to think I take any pleasure in your execution, Evergreen. I respected you.” Her hands went to a ring of keys on her waist, and then she proceeded to fit one of them into the cell door. “That’s why I wanted to escort you. I’m sorry that this is happening.”

“You sure do sound apologetic.”

That was unfair, Ever knew. Erza was only being a professional, and that she herself wouldn’t do any differently if their situations were reversed. But something in her had suddenly turned bitter while she waited in the thin dress in the frigid cell, and she couldn’t stop the harsh words pouring out of her mouth. She didn’t want to stop them. She wanted to embrace it, that terribleness that everyone saw in her. She had no chance, no restart, and she might as well be what everyone saw, let them feel so pleased and satisfied when she swung from the ropes, let them feel that they were heroes who had rid the land of a terrible, evil woman.

Erza led her down the hall, up two flights of stairs, and then to a chamber that Ever had been in a few times before. She had sometimes been the escort, the one to take the worst prisoners Fiore had to offer to their sentences, and she had always,  _ always  _ hated this chamber. It smelled like vomit, and there were blood stains nobody bothered to scrub off the floor, stains from where the prisoners had dug their heels into the ground and howled as they were dragged away.

Ever resolved to go with dignity.

A cold gauntlet rested on the nape of her neck and collected her hair, almost hesitantly. Ever bit the inside of her cheek as she heard the sound of a knife being freed, felt the chill of the dagger close to her ear, and flinched as it ripped roughly through her curls. Her head felt light all of a sudden, a false sense of freedom. It was custom to rid prisoners with long hair of it before they were hung, so that the noose went on more cleanly and the executioner didn’t have to fumble around. Erza had cut it just above her shoulders, and little stray hairs tickled under her jaw and at her cheeks.

“It’s almost time,” Erza said after ten minutes.

“Why did I have to wait for two hours in that cell?” she asked. “I’ve never made my prisoners wait that long. What, did you want to let me stew in my misery?”

Erza kept quiet for a moment, then said, “The executioner went missing for a couple of hours. Turns out Freed and Bickslow kept distracting him all day long.”

Something clenched in her throat and her eyes burned. Idiots. Utter, absolute, irrefutable idiots.

A knock on the door from the outside echoed throughout the chamber. Ever chewed on the inside of her cheek and felt the sound reverberate down into her bones. Was Laxus out there, she wondered. Freed, Bickslow? Gods, was Elfman there with his sister?

Elfman. Stupid,  _ stupid  _ Elfman, with his deep laugh and ridiculous stories, with his broad arms and warm eyes. She should have never let him back into her cabin when he came back that day. She never should have eaten his food, let him fix her chairs, take her out to meaningless picnics and make her feel safe enough to tell him things. She should have turned him right back around and refused him, ignored how sweet he looked standing there while he stuttered and offered her a meal. That would have all been for the best. But he had met her, and now he was suffering, knew vile things about her, and she had hurt him.

She had  _ hurt  _ him.

“We have to go now,” Erza said gently. She pushed Evergreen forward. “But, you know, before I take you out, I wanted to really say sorry.”

“Sorry?” she mumbled. Soft hair and a stupid smile kept poking at her thoughts.

“Being so harsh with you was wrong of me. I was prepared to kill you that night when you fled,” she admitted. “I’ve… felt truly, honestly terrible. Just thinking about it makes me sick.”

Oh, she sounded so genuinely apologetic, and it made something in her gut swirl. Sweet Erza, with her honest heart. Tears pressed behind her eyes and she took a deep breath, willing them back. 

It was time for a brave face.

“I would’ve done the same in your position,” Evergreen assured. “You don’t have to apologize to someone like me.”

And that was all that was said as the door opened and sunlight washed over them. Ever stepped out onto the scaffold, staring at the people below sitting around below her. Many of them watched with excitement in their eyes, many were turned away in terror, and she caught a glimpse of Freed and Bickslow staring intensely at her. She could see their fingers press against the edge of the box they sat in, the blatant sorrow on their faces, and it was too much. Too much, too much,  _ too much _ .

Ivan met her eyes when she turned her head. He sat next to the king, his fingers tapping along the edge of his wheelchair, and he smirked. And he waved. And he looked so delighted with himself. So delighted, and it made her want to scream, she wanted to throw herself on him and beat her fists against his face until it was unrecognizable. She wanted to take him with her. If she deserved hell, then so did he.

Her eyes swept once more across the clearing. She picked out a few more knights, including Mirajane, but saw no Laxus, and saw no Elfman. If she was hurt or if she was glad, she couldn’t tell. Erza backed away and the executioner placed the rope over her head, and it filled her senses. It smelled worn and hot, it felt like it weighed a million pounds, and her head fogged as she saw the people below lean forwardly eagerly.

Evergreen turned her face to the blue sky, shut her eyes, cleaned her mind of Freed and Bickslow, of Laxus and Elfman, and slipped into numbness.

This was what she deserved. This was fate baring its fangs at her, a toothy grin, pleased that she was finally getting what she deserved.

This was fate.

* * *

The sight of Evergreen standing on the walk stopped Elfman’s heart in his chest. It was raised only a story from the ground, and he could see every little flicker of emotion on her face: Pain, faintness, anger, sorrow. Her hair was freshly chopped, the soft curls fluttering around her face turned to the sky, and the white dress she wore billowed in the wind. If the executioner hadn’t been putting a noose around her neck, he could have compared her to an angel, a goddess, an ethereal being whom he could die for.

“Don't drag your feet!” Laxus snapped.

Kurohebi and Nalpudding cried out in protest as he yanked on their chains harder. Lovebird trailed behind them and nipped at their boots, herding them along like sheep. They spat at her, but she sliced a sizable gouge in Nalpudding’s leg as they came to the clearing and they stopped protesting.

Elfman clenched the chain and ring tightly in his hand as they rushed, and he never took his eyes off of Evergreen. Her eyes were shut, the expression on her face tense while the rope was adjusted and secured tightly above her. Erza stepped back into the chamber, an indication that they would be dropping her from the ground any second. The excited chatter of the spectators sickened him, and he walked faster, passing Laxus and Lovebird, praying for just one more second. If he had one more second, maybe he could make it right.

He gripped people by the shoulders and moved them aside, clearing a path for the prince and his prisoners and the griffon. They shouted after him, but the sight of Laxus quieted them. The scaffold was much too far away; it felt like it would take him a hundred more years to reach it. As he finally pushed through the last layer of people, he heard a voice screaming-  _ “Stop them! They’re interrupting the ceremony!” _ \- and the telling sound of armored boots against the ground.

The executioner pushed Evergreen towards the edge of the scaffold.

Her chained hands pressed together. Her toes curled against the edge of the wood.

Laxus shouted behind him as the guards tried to stop them.

The executioner put his hand on the lever.

Her shoulders hunched over and her knees shook.

“Stop!”

Elfman had always been something of a quiet person, even when he was wrestling with Natsu and Gray. Their voices were so harsh and loud, and they’d drowned his out since they were children. But now, he lifted it as loudly as he could, and silence slammed down onto the clearing like a lid. His throat felt suddenly sore. He slapped away the guard frozen next to him, putting the hand on his throat and clearing it.

“Elfman?”

Her eyes were open, wide and curious as she stared down at him. The wind blew behind her, sending her skirts into a ruffle. A single strand of uneven, uncut hair settled in her face.

The executioner took his hand off of the lever.

“Laxus!”

Elfman snapped his head to the side, greeted with the sight of Makarov standing up from his seat furiously. Next to him, Ivan was red in the face, a knobby finger pointed straight at them, and he realized it was him who had called for the guards. They had interrupted his entertainment.

“What is going on?” the king demanded.

Laxus shouldered his way past a wall of knights and tossed Kurohebi and Nalpudding to the ground. The people around murmured, pointed, stared curiously, and a sense of unease was beginning to settle on them. Ivan looked positively mortified as his retainers squirmed on the ground, trying to untangle their bindings from one another.

“You can’t hang an innocent person,” Elfman shouted. “You-”

Like a wave, a surge of laughter swept over the crowd. He clenched his fist, fighting the urge to beat them against something, someone, anything. Only the touch of Laxus’ hand on his shoulder calmed him down, and he began to speak in a much calmer, more professional manner that had Elfman seething with envy. He put his hand atop Lovebird’s head as she walked up next to him to give himself something to do. She ruffled her feathers and bit in the direction of her prisoners.

“My retainer did not murder the high priest,” Laxus began.

“You’ve said that a million times,” called out someone from the back of the crowd.

Laxus clenched his jaw, Elfman noticed, but kept his calm. “So I have. Except now, I have concrete evidence that Prince Ivan has orchestrated this entire event.”

A laugh, more like a bark, came from Ivan as he hunched over in his chair. “You’re really going to blame me now, son?”

“It isn’t blame if it’s the truth,” Elfman protested.

Laxus put a hand against his chest and shook his head, clearly saying “let me.” He cleared his throat and yanked on the bindings wrapped around his prisoners. “As I’m sure many recall, we thought that Kurohebi and Nalpudding were killed and disposed of shortly after the murder took place. But, as you can see, that isn’t the case.”

Nobody spoke, but Lovebird rounded on the two men with a ravenous look in her eyes.

“We found them hiding out in the town. And why would they do that if there wasn't something to hide, hm?”

Ivan scoffed. “My soldiers were obviously frightened of that maniac coming back to kill them!” He jerked his chin at Evergreen and scowled.

“One more word, and I’ll-” Elfman stopped himself and slunk back again. When he looked up at Evergreen, she was looking down at the scaffold with nothing but pure wonder at the scene.

“Maybe,” Laxus continued. “But they spilled the whole story, after some gentle persuasion.”

Another rush of whispers took the crowd. Ivan looked pale.

“The crown prince is afraid that I’ll be named the heir,” he said. “And so, he tried to throw me off, threaten me away by hurting one of my own personal retainers- the one that he knew that could be the most easily framed, all because of where she was born.

“Ivan lured her to the high priest’s chambers with false summons, then proceeded to murder him with a weapon similar to hers. He even poisoned and drugged himself for all this time to make himself look like a victim to her.” Laxus clenched his fist. “Ivan is a traitor to this country! A conniving madman who is threatened by his own son, a man who would frame an innocent woman, who would lead us into endless wars by his greed!”

Silence.

Elfman watched as Evergreen turned her head away, her shoulders quivering.

Silence.

And then a bitter laugh.

“Are we really going to believe this insanity?” Ivan cackled and got to his feet. “Really? A fanciful story, my boy, but it's only that- fanciful. Why would I need to intimidate you?”

“Because you know that the king prefers me as his heir,” he spat back. “Because he knows that you're a liar, a demon who would beat his own son for something as simple as not holding a sword right!”

“Oh, grow up!” Ivan shouted back. “That was years ago. And it has nothing to do with the matter at hand.”

A low rumbling came out of Laxus’ throat, and it was Elfman’s turn to hold him back. His eyes had dilated almost into slits, and he looked enraged, almost draconian. The people near them were backing up, and even Lovebird swished her tail nervously.

“If you ask me, this was one last desperate attempt to save her miserable life.” Ivan sat back in his chair. “We should proceed with the hanging.”

The executioner put his hand on the lever once more, Evergreen stiffened as the scaffold swayed, Elfman heard himself shouting, and then:

“Untie her.”

Makarov looked exhausted as he spoke, and everyone's attention flew to him. Ivan looked tense and coy as he glared at his father, an obviously false smile on his lips.

“Come again?” he asked. “Do you not recall what this whore did to me, did to the  _ priest _ ?”

Elfman tried to not imagine bashing Ivan’s head into a wall.

“That’s enough, Ivan,” Makarov snapped. “Please, untie her.”

“Father,” Ivan simpered. “You can’t be serious. This woman is a traitor and enemy to our crown. Even if she didn’t murder the priest, as my son has so falsely insinuated, it’s better off for her to be dead. Wouldn’t you agree that she’s a bad influence on him?”

Laxus took wide strides towards his father. “Stop that.”

“We all know that the only reason she maintained her position is because she screws the prince!”

“Shut up!”

It took four guards to hold Laxus back from his father. Elfman watched as Laxus strained against them, while Ivan glowered up at Evergreen, and finally Makarov slapped a hand over Ivan’s wrist.

“You’d do well to quiet yourself, Ivan,” he warned. “And Laxus, you calm down.”

“Father?” Ivan said slowly.

“Ivan, I’m placing you under arrest.”

The crowd muttered to one another in shock, people leaning in and whispering behind their hands while shooting curious stares up at Ever, still teetering precariously on the scaffold. The executioner appeared befuddled, and Erza had stepped forward, clearly unsure of what to do. Lovebird screeched and paced underneath the platform, chirping up at her master eagerly.

“Hush now!” he heard Ever yell down. “Hush now, Lovebird!”

When Elfman wrenched his eyes away from her, he found Ivan sputtering and waving his arms, still trying to convince the king. “You can’t be serious!” he was yelling. “I’m your son! You can’t-”

“I know you’re rotten enough to do every single thing that your retainers have admitted,” Makarov snapped back. “I suspected from the second all this happened that it might’ve been you who orchestrated all of this. I wanted to believe in you, Ivan.”

Ivan snapped, and so did the air around him. It crackled with fire and lightning, the wind whipped, and everyone surged back and away from him. “So what if I murdered that useless old man? So what if I blamed that moronic imp? I’m the only suitable candidate to lead this country, you stupid, spineless, old-!”

Elfman wasn’t entirely sure when he had moved his legs, when he had passed Laxus, when he had wrapped a hand around Ivan’s neck, plunging it through the whipping magic and suffering burns and scratches and jolts that made his finger spasm, but he had. Ivan’s eyes bulged out of his head and he squeaked, wildly grasping at his fingers and gasping. The spell fell and Elfman squeezed harder, harder, and harder.

“I’m tired of you,” he growled. “I’d break you in half right now if they let me.”

He waited a hopeful second for Makarov to say something along the lines of, “Please, do break him like a toothpick,” but it never came. What instead came was Freed and Bickslow, pounding across the clearing, and a sigh that seemed to age the old king another decade.

“Arrest the crown prince, you two.” He jerked his head towards Freed and Bickslow. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting months.”

Ivan howled and kicked his feet as Bickslow tackled him to the ground, not careful at all when it came to roughing him up, and Freed stood at attention with his sword pointed precariously at the tip of Ivan’s nose. The guards released Laxus, two of them collapsing with great grunts and rolling their shoulders free of strain.

“I’ll kill all of you!” Ivan screamed. “Every last one of you, I’ll turn you to ashes!”

Elfman figured that since he had been able to choke him into submission, it wouldn’t be too presumptuous to assume that he could kick him straight in the head without getting scolded. So he did, sending the toe of his boot right against Ivan’s temple, and he immediately stopped blathering and fell silent.

Most of the clearing had cleared when Ivan had started his tantrum, and Makarov began a slow, heavy walk towards the scaffold. Erza and Evergreen looked down at him, along with the executioner. His eyes snapped towards the latter, annoyed, and he snapped his fingers.

“Didn’t you hear me? This is an innocent girl. Untie her and get that rope away from her neck this instant!”

Evergreen sobbed when Laxus collected her into his arms only a minute later, smoothing her chopped hair back silently and glaring straight at the limp, motionless Ivan. He rubbed her wrists, smoothing his fingers over the bruises there, and his eyes drifted over to Elfman.

He swallowed and looked away, embarrassed, but he didn’t miss the slight smile that the prince had given him. A semblance of a grateful look, as humble a thing as the prince could probably muster. He knew what it meant:

There was no rope around Evergreen’s neck, and that was all that mattered to any of them.


End file.
